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The beautiful one, Blaisette Simon, of Colomberie Farm, was small and plump and very fair, with cheeks of a rosebud pink and lips full and ripe for kisses. The round innocence of her blue eyes looked away all sense from the men, so it was said, and she had lovers by the dozen.
Surrounded on all sides by green fields outside its charming garden, Colomberie looked the picture of comfort; and its cheery interior laughed the wind to scorn as the curtains were drawn across the kitchen window, and the crâsset was lit at the side of the wide hearth.
It was her presence, he assured her, with a stare into her trusting eyes, that drew him to Colomberie Farm to-night, otherwise he would have been out fishing beyond Pleinmont Point. Dominic had chuckled to himself many times during the past months when he reviewed his position towards Ellenor.
Colomberie Farm was glowing with warmth and light, and swarming with company on the evening of the twenty-first of December, for it was the special festival of longue veille. The spotless wooden table in the middle of the sanded floor was piled high with woollen goods of every kind, which had been knitted by men and women at former veilles.
He met Ellenor secretly; and was often at Colomberie Farm, where he was a welcome visitor, not only to the daughter, but to the father, who valued the advice and skill of the master of Orvillière in all things pertaining to the management of the farm.
On New Year's Day she went to Colomberie Farm to help in the kitchen, for there was much to be done in the way of preparing refreshments for the constant string of guests who came to bring greetings and presents to the pretty Blaisette, the rich, desirable heiress.
The autumn wind blew in great gusts over the rocky island of Guernsey, and in the country parishes rushed up hill and down dale, leaving not a lane undisturbed by its vagaries. It rattled the leafless trees which grew at the back of Colomberie Farm, whose deep brown-thatched roof rested against the lichened red tiles of the barn adjoining.
Only a poor fisherman repeated the sad tidings as he trudged, first to Colomberie Farm and then to Orvillière, where Dominic's aunt kept house in state while her graceless nephew was away. No Messieurs of distinguished Torteval families were honoured bearers, but a good man and a bad man had carried her coffin to the dark place of burial.
She could not bear it. Once more she rushed from Colomberie Farm in bitter despair and unreasoning grief. It was Spring. Dominic Le Mierre still played a double game and there was no talk of an engagement between Blaisette and himself.
Her sallow skin, sombre grey eyes and heavy mouth, looked the personification of night beside the sunny beauty of Blaisette's blue eyes and yellow hair. The girl of the cottage was an excellent foil to the girl of Colomberie Farm. Did Blaisette realize, all unconsciously, the use of this to her as she went forward triumphantly in her victorious path as the belle of two parishes?
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