She held out the letter to him at once.
"It is from my sister in the West--at Shilah," she explained. "There is
nothing in it you can't read, and most of it concerns you." Jean Jacques
took the letter, but he could not bring himself to read it, for Virginie
Poucette's manner was not suggestive of happy tidings. After an
instant's hesitation he handed the letter to M. Fille, who pressed
his lips with an air of determination, and put on his glasses.
Jean Jacques saw the face of the Clerk of the Court flush and then turn
pale as he read the letter. "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.
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