"There, be quick!" he said before M. Fille
had turned the first page.
Then the widow of Palass Poucette came to him and, in a simple harmless
way she had, free from coquetry or guile, stood beside him, took his hand
and held it. He seemed almost unconscious of her act, but his fingers
convulsively tightened on hers; while she reflected that here was one who
needed help sorely; here was a good, warm-hearted man on whom a woman
could empty out affection like rain and get a good harvest. She really
was as simple as a child, was Virginie Poucette, and even in her
acquaintance with Sebastian Dolores, there had only been working in her
the natural desire of a primitive woman to have a man saying that which
would keep alive in her the things that make her sing as she toils; and
certainly Virginie toiled late and early on her farm. She really was
concerned for Jean Jacques. Both wife and daughter had taken flight, and
he was alone and in trouble. At this moment she felt she would like to be
a sister to him--she was young enough to be his daughter almost. Her
heart was kind.
"Now!" said Jean Jacques at last, as the Clerk of the Court's eyes
reached the end of the last page. "Now, speak! It is--it is my Zoe?"
"It is our Zoe," answered M. Fille.
"Figure de Christ, what do you wait for--she is not dead?" exclaimed Jean
Jacques with a courage which made him set his feet squarely.
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