hich told her the hour in its silvery tones, and beat like a
human heart, and the tears came into her eyes as she looked at it; she
had not felt so moved when she had kissed her father and mother on her
return, but the heart has no rules or logic, to guide it.

Julien had made his fatigue the pretext for not sharing his wife's
chamber that night, so, for the first time since her marriage, she slept
alone. It had been agreed that henceforth they should have separate
rooms, but she was not yet accustomed to sleep alone, and, for a long
time she lay awake while the moaning wind swept round the house. In the
morning she was aroused by the blood-red light falling on her bed.
Through the frozen window-panes it looked as if the whole sky were on
fire. Throwing a big dressing-gown round her, Jeanne ran to the window
and opened it, and in rushed an icy wind, stinging her skin and bringing
the water to her eyes. In the midst of a crimson sky, the great red sun
was rising behind the trees, and the white frost had made the ground so
hard that it rang under the farm-servant's feet. In this one night all
the branches of the poplars had been entirely stripped of their few
remaining leaves, and, through the bare trees, beyond the plain,
appeared the long, green line of the sea, covered with white-crested
waves. The plane-tree and the linden were being rapidly stripped of
their bright coverings by the cold wind, and showers of leaves fell to
the ground as each gust swept by.

Jeanne dressed herself, and for want of something better to do, went to
see the farmers. The Martins were very surprised to see her. Madame
Martin kissed her on both cheeks, and she had to drink a little glass of
noyau; then she went over to the other farm. The Couillards were also
very surprised when she came in; the farmer's wife gave two pecks at her
ears and insisted on her drinking a little glass of cassis; then she
went in to breakfast. And that day passed like the previous one, only it
was cold instead of damp, and the other days of the week were like the
first two, and all the weeks of the month were like the first one.

Little by little, Jeanne's regrets for those happy, distant lands
vanished; she began to get resigned to her life, to feel an interest in
the many unimportant details of the days, and to perform her simple,
regular occupations with care. A disenchantment of life, a sort of
settled melancholy gradually took possession of her. What did she w