"What are you doing there? Are you trying to see the grass grow?"Luc was cheered up by this, and smiled likewise: "Maybe we are.""That's pretty slow work," said she.
He answered, still laughing: "Well, yes, it is."She went on. But coming back with a milk-pail full of milk, she stopped again before them, and said:
"Would you like a little? It will taste like home."With the instinctive feeling that they were of the same peasant race as she, being herself perhaps also far away from home, she had divined and touched the spot.
They were both touched. Then with some difficulty, she managed to make a little milk run into the neck of the glass bottle in which they carried their wine. And Luc drank first, with little swallows, stopping every minute to see whether he had drunk more than his half. Then he handed the bottle to Jean.
She stood upright before them, her hands on her hips, her pail on the ground at her feet, glad at the pleasure which she had given.
Then she departed, shouting: "Allons, adieu! Till next Sunday!"And as long as they could see her at all, they followed with their eyes her tall silhouette, which faded, growing smaller and smaller, seeming to sink into the verdure of the fields.
When they were leaving the barracks the week after, Jean said to Luc:
"Oughtn't we to buy her something good?"
They were in great embarrassment before the problem of the choice of a delicacy for the girl with the cow. Luc was of the opinion that a little tripe would be the best, but Jean preferred some berlingots because he was fond of sweets. His choice fairly made him enthusiastic, and they bought at a grocer's two sous' worth of white and red candies.
They ate their breakfast more rapidly than usual, being nervous with expectation.
Jean saw her first. "There she is!" he cried. Luc added: "Yes, there she is."While yet some distance off she laughed at seeing them. Then she cried:
"Is everything going as you like it?"
And in unison they asked:
"Are you getting on all right?"
Then she conversed, talked to them of simple things in which they felt an interest--of the weather, of the crops, and of her master.
They were afraid to offer her the candies, which were slowly melting away in Jean's pocket.
At last Luc grew bold, and murmured:
"We have brought you something."
She demanded, "What is it? Tell me!"
Then Jean, blushing up to his ears, managed to get at the little paper cornucopia, and held it out.
She began to eat the little bonbons, rolling them from one cheek to the other where they made little round lumps. The two soldiers, seated before her, gazed at her with emotion and delight.
Then she went to milk her cow, and once more gave them some milk on coming back.
They thought of her all the week; several times they even spoke of her. The next Sunday she sat down with them for a little longer talk; and all three, seated side by side, their eyes lost in the distance, clasping their knees with their hands, told the small doings, the minute details of life in the villages where they had been born, while over there the cow, seeing that the milkmaid had stopped on her way, stretched out toward her its heavy head with its dripping nostrils, and gave a long low to call her.
Soon the girl consented to eat a bit of bread with them and drink a mouthful of wine. She often brought them plums in her pocket, for the season of plums had come. Her presence sharpened the wits of the two little Breton soldiers, and they chattered like two birds.
But, one Tuesday, Luc le Ganidec asked for leave--a thing which had never happened before--and he did not return until ten o'clock at night. Jean racked his brains uneasily for a reason for his comrade's going out in this way.
