She adores him, and that makes trouble sometimes. Then the mother
gets fits, and makes things hard at the Manor Cartier. It is not all a
bed of roses for our Jean Jacques. But there it is. He is very busy all
the time. Something doing always, never still, except when you will find
him by the road-side, or in a tavern with all the people round him,
talking, jesting, and he himself going into a trance with his book of
philosophy. It is very strange that everlasting going, going, going, and
yet that love of his book. I sometimes think it is all pretence, and that
he is all vanity--or almost so. Heaven forgive me for my want of
charity!"
The little round judge cocked his head astutely. "But you say he is kind
to the poor, that he does not treat men hardly who are in debt to him,
and that he will take his coat off his back to give to a tramp--is it
so?"
"As so, as so, monsieur."
"Then he is not all vanity, and because of that he will feel the blow
when it comes--alas, so much he will feel it!"
"What blow, monsieur le juge?--but ah, look, monsieur!" He pointed
eagerly. "There she is, going to the red wagon--Madame Jean Jacques. Is
she not a figure of a woman? See the walk of her--is it not
distinguished? She is half a hand-breadth taller than Jean Jacques. And
her face, most sure it is a face to see. If Jean Jacques was not so busy
with his farms and his mills and his kilns and his usury, he would see
what a woman he has got.
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