chewing　their　cud　under　a　blazing　sun。　　Unharnessed　plows　were　standing
  at　the　end　of　a　furrow；　and　the　upturned　earth　ready　for　the　seed　showed
  broad　brown　patches　of　stubble　of　wheat　and　oats　that　had　lately　been
  harvested。
  A　rather　dry　autumn　wind　blew　across　the　plain；　promising　a　cool　evening
  after　the　sun　had　set。　　Benoist　sat　down　on　a　ditch；　placed　his　hat　on
  his　knees　as　if　he　needed　to　cool　off　his　head；　and　said　aloud　in　the
  stillness　of　the　country：　〃If　you　want　a　fine　girl；　she　is　a　fine　girl。〃
  He　thought　of　it　again　at　night；　in　his　bed；　and　in　the　morning　when　he
  awoke。
  He　was　not　sad；　he　was　not　discontented；　he　could　not　have　told　what
  ailed　him。　　It　was　something　that　had　hold　of　him；　something　fastened　in
  his　mind；　an　idea　that　would　not　leave　him　and　that　produced　a　sort　of
  tickling　sensation　in　his　heart。
  Sometimes　a　big　fly　is　shut　up　in　a　room。　　You　hear　it　flying　about；
  buzzing；　and　the　noise　haunts　you；　irritates　you。　　Suddenly　it　stops；　you
  forget　it；　but　all　at　once　it　begins　again；　obliging　you　to　look　up。
  You　cannot　catch　it；　nor　drive　it　away；　nor　kill　it；　nor　make　it　keep
  still。　　As　soon　as　it　settles　for　a　second；　it　starts　off　buzzing　again。
  The　recollection　of　Martine　disturbed　Benoist's　mind　like　an　imprisoned
  fly。
  Then　he　longed　to　see　her　again　and　walked　past　the　Martiniere　several
  times。　　He　saw　her；　at　last；　hanging　out　some　clothes　on　a　line　stretched
  between　two　apple　trees。
  It　was　a　warm　day。　　She　had　on　only　a　short　skirt　and　her　chemise；
  showing　the　curves　of　her　figure　as　she　hung　up　the　towels。　　He　remained
  there；　concealed　by　the　hedge；　for　more　than　an　hour；　even　after　she　had
  left。　　He　returned　home　more　obsessed　with　her　image　than　ever。
  For　a　month　his　mind　was　full　of　her；　he　trembled　when　her　name　was
  mentioned　in　his　presence。　　He　could　not　eat；　he　had　night　sweats　that
  kept　him　from　sleeping。
  On　Sunday；　at　mass；　he　never　took　his　eyes　off　her。　　She　noticed　it　and
  smiled　at　him；　flattered　at　his　appreciation。
  One　evening；　he　suddenly　met　her　in　the　road。　　She　stopped　short　when　she
  saw　him　coming。　　Then　he　walked　right　up　to　her；　choking　with　fear　and
  emotion；　but　determined　to　speak　to　her。　　He　began　falteringly：
  〃See　here；　Martine；　this　cannot　go　on　like　this　any　longer。〃
  She　replied　as　if　she　wanted　to　tease　him：
  〃What　cannot　go　on　any　longer；　Benoist？〃
  〃My　thinking　of　you　as　many　hours　as　there　are　in　the　day；〃　he　answered。
  She　put　her　hands　on　her　hips。
  〃I　do　not　oblige　you　to　do　so。〃
  〃Yes；　it　is　you；〃　he　stammered；　〃I　cannot　sleep；　nor　rest；　nor　eat；　nor
  anything。〃
  〃What　do　you　need　to　cure　you　of　all　that？〃　she　asked。
  He　stood　there　in　dismay；　his　arms　swinging；　his　eyes　staring；　his　mouth
  agape。
  She　hit　him　a　punch　in　the　stomach　and　ran　off。
  From　that　day　they　met　each　other　along　the　roadside；　in　by…roads　or　else
  at　twilight　on　the　edge　of　a　field；　when　he　was　going　home　with　his
  horses　and　she　was　driving　her　cows　home　to　the　stable。
  He　felt　himself　carried；　cast　toward　her　by　a　strong　impulse　of　his　heart
  and　body。　　He　would　have　liked　to　squeeze　her；　strangle　her；　eat　her；
  make　her　part　of　himself。　　And　he　trembled　with　impotence；　impatience；
  rage；　to　think　she　did　not　belong　to　him　entirely；　as　if　they　were　one
  being。
  People　gossiped　about　it　in　the　countryside。　　They　said　they　were
  engaged。　　He　had；　besides；　asked　her　if　she　would　be　his　wife；　and　she
  had　answered　〃Yes。〃
  They；　were　waiting　for　an　opportunity　to　talk　to　their　parents　about　it。
  But；　all　at　once；　she　stopped　coming　to　meet　him　at　the　usual　hour。　　He
  did　not　even　see　her　as　he　wandered　round　the　farm。　　He　could　only　catch
  a　glimpse　of　her　at　mass　on　Sunday。　　And　one　Sunday；　after　the　sermon；
  the　priest　actually　published　the　banns　of　marriage　between　Victoire…
  Adelaide　Martin　and　Josephin…Isidore　Vallin。
  Benoist　felt　a　sensation　in　his　hands　as　if　the　blood　had　been　drained
  off。　　He　had　a　buzzing　in　the　ears；　and　could　hear　nothing；　and　presently
  he　perceived　that　his　tears　were　falling　on　his　prayer　book。
  For　a　month　he　stayed　in　his　room。　　Then　he　went　back　to　his　work。
  But　he　was　not　cured；　and　it　was　always　in　his　mind。　　He　avoided　the
  roads　that　led　past　her　home；　so　that　he　might　not　even　see　the　trees　in
  the　yard；　and　this　obliged　him　to　make　a　great　circuit　morning　and
  evening。
  She　was　now　married　to　Vallin；　the　richest　farmer　in　the　district。
  Benoist　and　he　did　not　speak　now；　though　they　had　been　comrades　from
  childhood。
  One　evening；　as　Benoist　was　passing　the　town　hall；　he　heard　that　she　was
  enceinte。　　Instead　of　experiencing　a　feeling　of　sorrow；　he　experienced；
  on　the　contrary；　a　feeling　of　relief。　　It　was　over；　now；　all　over。　　They
  were　more　separated　by　that　than　by　her　marriage。　　He　really　preferred
  that　it　should　be　so。
  Months　passed；　and　more　months。　　He　caught　sight　of　her；　occasionally；
  going　to　the　village　with　a　heavier　step　than　usual。　　She　blushed　as　she
  saw　him；　lowered　her　head　and　quickened　her　pace。　　And　he　turned　out　of
  his　way　so　as　not　to　pass　her　and　meet　her　glance。
  He　dreaded　the　thought　that　he　might　one　morning　meet　her　face　to　face；
  and　be　obliged　to　speak　to　her。　　What　could　he　say　to　her　now；　after　all
  he　had　said　formerly；　when　he　held　her　hands　as　he　kissed　her　hair　beside
  her　cheeks？　　He　often　thought　of　those　meetings　along　the　roadside。　　She
  had　acted　horridly　after　all　her　promises。
  By　degrees　his　grief　diminished；　leaving　only　sadness　behind。　　And　one
  day　he　took　the　old　road　that　led　past　the　farm　where　she　now　lived。
  He　looked　at　the　roof　from　a　distance。　　It　was　there；　in　there；　that　she
  lived　with　another！　　The　apple　trees　were　in　bloom；　the　cocks　crowed　on
  the　dung　hill。　　The　whole　dwelling　seemed　empty；　the　farm　hands　had　gone
  to　the　fields　to　their　spring　toil。　　He　stopped　near　the　gate　and　looked
  into　the　yard。　　The　dog　was　asleep　outside　his　kennel；　three　calves　were
  walking　slowly；　one　behind　the　other；　towards　the　pond。　　A　big　turkey　was
  strutting　before　the　door；　parading　before　the　turkey　hens　like　a　singer
  at　the　opera。
  Benoist　leaned　against　the　gate　post　and　was　suddenly　seized　with　a
  desire　to　weep。　　But　suddenly；　he　heard　a　cry；　a　loud　cry　for　help　coming
  from　the　house。　　He　was　struck　with　dismay；　his　hands　grasping　the　wooden
  bars　of　the　gate；　and　listened　attentively。　　Another　cry；　a　prolonged；
  heartrending　cry；　reached　his　ears；　his　soul；　his　flesh。　　It　was　she　who
  was　crying　like　that！　　He　darted　inside；　crossed　the　grass　patch；　pushed
  open　the　door；　and　saw　her　lying　on　the　floor；　her　body　drawn　up；　her
  face　livid；　her　eyes　haggard；　in　the　throes　of　childbirth。
  He　stood　there；　trembling　and　paler　than　she　was；　and　stammered：
  〃Here　I　am；　here　I　am；　Martine！〃
  She　replied　in　gasps：
  〃Oh；　do　not　leave　me；　do　not　leave　me；　Benoist！〃
  He　looked　at　her；　not　knowing　what　to　say；　what　to　do。　　She　began　to　cry
  out　again：
  〃Oh；　oh；　it　is　killing　me。　　Oh；　Benoist！〃
  She　writhed　frightfully。
  Benoist　was　suddenly　seized　with　a　frantic　longing　to　help　her；　to　quiet
  her；　to　remove　her　pain。　　He　leaned　over；　lifted　her　up　and　laid　her　on
  her　bed；　and　while　she　kept　on　moaning　he　began　to　take　off　her　clothes；
  her　jacket；　her　skirt　and　her　petticoat。　　She　bit　her　fists　to　keep　from
  crying　out。　　Then　he　did　as　he　was　accustomed　to　doing　for　cows；　ewes；
  and　mares：　he　assisted　in　delivering　her　and　found　in　his　hands　a　large
  infant　who　was　moaning。
  He　wiped　it　off　and　wrapped　it　up　in　a　towel　that　was　drying　in　front　of
  the　fire；　and　laid　it　on　a　bundle　of　clothes　ready　for　ironing　that　was
  on　the　table。　　Then　he　went　back　to　the　mother。
  He　took　her　up　and　placed　her　on　the　floor　again；　then　he　changed　the
  bedclothes　and　put　her　back　into　bed。　　She　faltered：
  〃Thank　you；　Benoist；　you　have　a　noble　heart。〃　　And　then　she　wept　a　little
  as　if　she　felt　regretful。
  He　did　not　love　her　any　longer；　not　the　least　bit。　　It　was　all　over。
  Why？　　How？　　He　could　not　have　said。　　What　had　happened　had　cured　him
  better　than　ten　years　of　absence。
  She　asked；　exhausted　and　trembling：
  〃What　is　it？〃
  He　replied　calmly：
  〃It　is　a　very　fine　girl。〃
  Then　they　were　silent　again。　　At　the　end　of　a　few　moments；　the　mother；　in
  a　weak　voice；　said：
  〃Show　her　to　me；　Benoist。〃
  He　took　up　the　little　one　and　was　showing　it　to　her　as　if　he　were　holding
  the　consecrated　wafer；　when　the　door　opened；　and　Isidore　Vallin　appeared。
  He　did　not　understand　at　first；　then　all　at　once　he　guessed。
  Benoist；　in　consternation；　stammered　out：
  〃I　was　passing；　I　was　just　passing　by　when　f　heard　her　crying　out；　and　I
  camethere　is　your　child；　Vallin！〃
  Then　the　husband；　his　eyes　full　of　tears；　stepped　forward；　took　the
  little　mite　of　humanity　that　he　held　out　to　him；　kissed　it；　unable　to
  speak　from　emotion　for　a　few　seconds；　then　placing　the　child　on　the　bed；
  he　held　out　both　hands　to　Benoist；　saying：
  〃Your　hand　upon　it；　Benoist。　　From　now　on　we　understand　each　other。　　If
  you　are　willing；　we　will　be　a　pair　of　friends；　a　pair　of　friends！〃　　And
  Benoist　replied：　〃Indeed　I　will；　certainly；　indeed　I　will。〃
  ALL　OVER
  Compte　de　Lormerin　had　just　finished　dres