the chairs showed
the stuffing of their cushions, the curtains, in places, were faded
by the sun. The library alone betrayed a daily care and attention.

Long rows of books in calf and gilt were ranged on the carved oaken
shelves, a movable table near the fireplace contained M. Plantat's
favorite books, the discreet friends of his solitude. A spacious
conservatory, fitted with every accessory and convenience, was his
only luxury. In it flourished one hundred and thirty-seven
varieties of briars.

Two servants, the widow Petit, cook and house-keeper, and Louis,
gardener, inhabited the house. If they did not make it a noisy one,
it was because Plantat, who talked little, detested also to hear
others talk. Silence was there a despotic law. It was very hard
for Mme. Petit, especially at first. She was very talkative, so
talkative that when she found no one to chat with, she went to
confession; to confess was to chat. She came near leaving the place
twenty times; but the thought of an assured pension restrained her.
Gradually she became accustomed to govern her tongue, and to this
cloistral silence. But she revenged herself outside for the
privations of the household, and regained among the neighbors the
time lost at home.

She was very much wrought up on the day of the murder. At eleven
o'clock, after going out for news, she had prepared monsieur's
dinner; but he did not appear. She waited one, two hours, five
hours, keeping her water boiling for the eggs; no monsieur. She
wanted to send Louis to look for him, but Louis being a poor talker
and not curious, asked her to go herself. The house was besieged
by the female neighbors, who, thinking that Mme. Petit ought to be
well posted, came for news; no news to give.

Toward five o'clock, giving up all thought of breakfast, she began
to prepare for dinner. But when the village bell struck eight
o'clock, monsieur had not made his appearance. At nine, the good
woman was beside herself, and began to scold Louis, who had just
come in from watering the garden, and, seated at the kitchen table,
was soberly eating a plate of soup.

The bell rung.

"Ah, there's monsieur, at last."

No, it was not monsieur, but a little boy, whom M. Plantat had sent
from Valfeuillu to apprise Mme. Petit that he would soon return,
bringing with him two guests who would dine and sleep at the house.
The worthy woman nearly fainted. It was the first time that M.
Plantat had invited anyone to din