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Updated: June 16, 2025
Thus the column advanced between the rows of elms like some gigantic serpent whose every ring had a strange quivering. The frosty December night had again sunk into silence, and the Viorne alone seemed to roar more loudly. On reaching the first houses of the Faubourg, Silvere ran on in front to fetch his gun from the Aire Saint-Mittre, which he found slumbering in the moonlight.
On the next day, she seemed to have forgotten everything. She never again spoke to Silvere of the morning on which she had found him with a sweetheart behind the wall. The young people did not see each other for a couple of days. When Miette ventured to return to the well, they resolved not to recommence the pranks which had upset aunt Dide.
Silvere was in despair; he thought of boldly going to the Rebufats to ask for Miette. The party-well was a large one, but not very deep. On either side of the wall the curb formed a large semicircle. The water was only ten or twelve feet down at the utmost. This slumbering water reflected the two apertures of the well, two half-moons between which the shadow of the wall cast a black streak.
I know something about his position; he's employed at the Rue de Jerusalem; he's a police spy." "Who told you so? You know nothing about it," interrupted Silvere, whose upright spirit at last felt hurt by his uncle's lying accusations. "Ah! I know nothing about it? Do you think so? I tell you he is a police spy. You'll be shorn like a lamb one of these days, with your benevolence.
Thereupon she was seized with remorse, and burst into sobs. "What is the matter; why are you crying?" asked Silvere in an anxious voice. "Oh, leave me," she faltered, "I do not know." Then in spite of herself, as it were, she continued amidst her tears: "Ah! what an unfortunate creature I am! When I was ten years old people used to throw stones at me.
Young Silvere had never even been to school at the time when Mouret was found hanging among his wife's skirts. His elder brother, not knowing what to do with him, took him also to his uncle's. The latter made a wry face on beholding the child; he had no intention of carrying his compensation so far as to feed a useless mouth.
He never ceased descanting on this subject. Silvere thereupon became indignant with his uncle Pierre, much to the satisfaction of his uncle Antoine. The scene was much the same every time the young man called. He used to come in the evening, while the Macquarts were at dinner.
And he saw her no more. Emotion choked him at the thought: he would never see her again never! "When you're ready," jeered the one-eyed man; "come, choose your place." Silvere took a few more steps. He was approaching the end of the path, and could see nothing but a strip of sky in which the rust-coloured light was fading away. Here had he spent his life for two years past.
"Marie," replied the peasant-girl; "but everybody calls me Miette." Again she raised herself slightly, and in a clear voice inquired in her turn: "And yours?" "My name is Silvere," the young workman replied. A pause ensued, during which they seemed to be listening complacently to the music of their names. "I'm fifteen years old," resumed Silvere. "And you?"
Sometimes, too, they went in search of magpies' nests. Headstrong Miette, wishing to show how she had climbed trees at Chavanoz, would tie up her skirts with a piece of string, and ascend the highest poplars; while Silvere stood trembling beneath, with his arms outstretched to catch her should she slip.
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