I tell you it is the small kind of men who love me, and who say when they see me go by at Ville-aux-Fayes and at Soulanges, 'Ha! what a fine girl!' Now YOU, that's another thing; you'll please the fine men." "Ah! Catherine, if it were true--that!" cried the bewitched child.
"It is true, it is so true that Nicolas, the handsomest man in the canton, is mad about you; he dreams of you, he is losing his mind; and yet all the other girls are in love with him.

He is a fine lad! If you'll put on a white dress and yellow ribbons, and come to Socquard's for the midsummer ball, you'll be the handsomest girl there, and all the fine people from Ville-aux-Fayes will see you.

Come, won't you ?--See here, I've been cutting grass for the cows, and I brought some boiled wine in my gourd; Socquard gave it me this morning," she added quickly, seeing the half-delirious expression in La Pechina's eyes which women understand so well.

"We'll share it together, and you'll fancy the men are in love with you." During this conversation Nicolas, choosing the grassy spots to step on, had noiselessly slipped behind the trunk of an old oak near which his sister had seated La Pechina.

Catherine, who had now and then cast her eyes behind her, saw her brother as she turned to get the boiled wine.
"Here, take some," she said, offering it.
"It burns me!" cried Genevieve, giving back the gourd, after taking two or three swallows from it.
"Silly child!" replied Catherine; "see here!" and she emptied the rustic bottle without taking breath.