She complained of suffering since the beginning of the season from

giddiness; she asked if sea-baths would do her any good; she began

talking of her convent, Charles of his school; words came to them. They

went up into her bedroom. She showed him her old music-books, the little

prizes she had won, and the oak-leaf crowns, left at the bottom of a

cupboard. She spoke to him, too, of her mother, of the country, and even

showed him the bed in the garden where, on the first Friday of every

month, she gathered flowers to put on her mother's tomb. But the

gardener they had never knew anything about it; servants are so stupid!

She would have dearly liked, if only for the winter, to live in town,

although the length of the fine days made the country perhaps even more

wearisome in the summer. And, according to what she was saying, her

voice was clear, sharp, or, on a sudden all languor, drawn out in

modulations that ended almost in murmurs as she spoke to herself, now

joyous, opening big naive eyes, then with her eyelids half closed, her

look full of boredom, her thoughts wandering.

Going home at night, Charles went over her words one by one, trying to

recall them, to fill out their sense, that he might piece out the life

she had lived before he knew her. But he never saw her in his thoughts

other than he had seen her the first time, or as he had just left her.

Then he asked himself what would become of her--if she would be married,

and to whom! Alas! Old Rouault was rich, and she!--so beautiful! But

Emma's face always rose before his eyes, and a monotone, like the

humming of a top, sounded in his ears, "If you should marry after

all! If you should marry!" At night he could not sleep; his throat was

parched; he was athirst. He got up to drink from the water-bottle and

opened the window. The night was covered with stars, a warm wind blowing

in the distance; the dogs were barking. He turned his head towards the

Bertaux.

Thinking that, after all, he should lose nothing, Charles promised

himself to ask her in marriage as soon as occasion offered, but each

time such occasion did offer the fear of not finding the right words

sealed his lips.

Old Rouault would not have been sorry to be rid of his daughter, who was

of no use to him in the house. In his heart he excused her, thinking

her too clever for farming, a calling under the ban of Heaven, since one

never saw a millionaire in it. Far from having made a fortune by it,

the good man was losing every year; for if he was good in bargaining, in

which he enjoyed the dodges of the trade, on the other hand, agriculture

properly so called, and the internal management of the farm, suited him

less than most people. He did not willingly take his hands out of his

pockets, and did not spare expense in all that concerned himself, liking

to eat well, to have good fires, and to sleep well. He liked old cider,

underdone legs of mutton, glorias* well beaten up. He took his meals in

the kitchen alone, opposite the fire, on a little table brought to him

all ready laid as on the stage.




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