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Updated: May 25, 2025
"Give her rest," they all said; and one by one moved away, being poor folk and hard working, and unable to lose a whole day. Mère Krebs stayed with her, and Jeannot sat in the porch where her little spinning-wheel stood, and rocked himself to and fro; in vain agony, powerless. He had done all he could, and it was of no avail.
On a sudden impulse Flamen, going through the woodland shadows to the city, paused and turned back; all his impulses were quick and swayed him now hither, now thither, in many contrary ways. He knew that the hour was come that he must leave her and spare her, as to himself he phrased it, or teach her the love words that the daisies whisper to women. And why not? anyway she would marry Jeannot.
The assembled company were in convulsions of suppressed laughter, which broke out when, at the moment of M. Barthe's most ecstatic admiration and respect for his new patron, Sophie Arnould lifted her glass, and, looking at the chevalier, said, in a clear voice, "Your health, Jeannot!" The sensations of poor M. Barthe may readily be imagined.
The Van Tricasse family might well call itself the "Jeannot family." This is why: Every one knows that the knife of this typical personage is as celebrated as its proprietor, and not less incapable of wearing out, thanks to the double operation, incessantly repeated, of replacing the handle when it is worn out, and the blade when it becomes worthless.
Jeannot looked up at her, then went on his slow sad way through the wet lavender-shrubs and the opening buds of the lilies. "You will only think of that stranger, Bébée, never of any of us never again," he said; and wearily opened the little gate and went through it, and down the daybreak stillness of the lane. It was a foolish thing to say; but when were lovers ever wise?
"Let me die! let me die!" she shrieked to him, and strained from him to get at the cool gray silent water that waited for her there. Then she lost all consciousness, and saw the stars no more. When she came back to any sense of life, the stars were shining still, and the face of Jeannot was bending over her, wet with tears.
It was as Jeannot kissed his sister Marie, who was fifteen years old and sold milk for the Krebs people in the villages with a little green cart and a yellow dog no more.
She might have sinned as she had liked if she had been sensible after it, and married Jeannot. But to fret mutely, and shut her lips, and seem as though she had done nothing, that was guilt indeed. For her village, in its small way, thought as the big world thinks. Full winter came.
Even then she only looked about her in a bewildered way, and never spoke. Were the sixteen days a dream? She did not know. The women whom Jeannot summoned, his mother and sisters, and Mère Krebs, and one or two others, weeping for what had been the hardness of their hearts against her, undressed her, and laid her down on her little bed, and opened the shutters to the radiance of the sun.
The dormice were two soft, brown creatures, almost as pretty and as innocent as the squirrel, and a great deal tamer; and they were called Jeannette and Jeannot, and would come when they were called by their names, and take a bit of cake or a lump of sugar out of the fingers of their little mistress.
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