Ah, allez-vous-en! Va-t'-en!"
She hurriedly put away the cordial and the seed-cakes. She picked up the
bottle. It was empty. Ferrol had drunk near half a pint of the liqueur!
She must get another bottle of it somehow. It would never do for Magon
to know that the precious anniversary cordial was all gone--in this way.
She hurried towards the other room. The voice of the farrier-farmer was
more distinct now. She could hear clearly the words of the song. She
looked out. The square-shouldered, blue-shirted Magon was skirting the
turnip field, making a short cut home. His straw hat was pushed back on
his head, his scythe was over his shoulder. He had cut the last swathe
in the field--now for Sophie. He was not handsome, and she had known
that always; but he seemed rough and coarse to-day. She did not notice
how well he fitted in with everything about him; and he was so healthy
that even three glasses of that cordial would have sent him reeling to
bed.
As she passed into the dining-room, the words of the song followed her:
"Qui va la! If you please, I own the mansion,
And this is my grandfather's gun!
Qui va la! Now you're a dead man, robber
Ah, allez-vous-en! Va-t'-en!"
CHAPTER XI
"I saw you coming," Ferrol said, as Christine stopped the buggy.
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