"Suppose he should get bad ideas in his head, and send religion and honesty to the devil."
"That would be a great misfortune," again said La Ragaude, but this time sighing.
"I know you," continued the good man--"you become attached to every one. Didn't you weep like a little girl because I beat Capitaine, who is only an ox, and who deserved it? And haven't I seen you half crazy because Brunette had the gripes?--and she was only a cow.... Can it be hoped that you would be more reasonable about a child who would become ours?--for we must do the thing well or not at all; isn't it so?"
"It is just as you say," replied Pierrette, sighing still louder; "but what, then, shall we do?"
"My opinion is that we must consider it well," answered Ragaud.
"You only consider the bad side," said La Ragaude gently; "but suppose the little one should preserve the blessing of his baptism, and let himself be well governed--later, we would be very happy and well rewarded."
"If," continued La Ragaude, "I am easily worried about animals, I know well it would not be the same thing with a Christian. You see, husband, the poor beasts suffer without being able to complain or explain themselves; and, therefore, I am always afraid of their being treated unjustly. But a boy has his tongue, and can defend himself. We can talk sense to him, and if he won't listen, why, we will put him to school."
"Bah! you will spoil him so that he will be master of the house before he is in breeches."
"Don't fear," cried Pierrette; "that will never be, or I should think myself wanting in gratitude to the good God."
"If I could be sure of that, my wife, I would attempt it. But, come; let the night pass before deciding."
They did not mention it again until the next day; but Pierrette took care, before retiring, to light a taper at her bedside, beneath a beautiful picture of Our Lady of Liesse.
Early the next morning, she went, as usual, to feed her turkeys and drive her cows to the meadow. On her return, she saw Ragaud dressing himself in his Sunday clothes.
"I think, wife," said he, "we had better, at least, see this little one before deciding."
Pierrette hastened to throw aside her apron; and then it appeared she had expected such a decision, as at dawn she had dressed herself in her new gown of gray serge, with her bright-flowered neckerchief from Rouen, which had only been worn at the last feast of the good S. Anne, in July.