thoughts to those far-away countries where all her dreams lay buried.

They did not go back through the wood, but walked along the road; they
walked in silence, for both were saddened by the thought of the morrow's
parting. As they passed the farmhouses, they could smell the crushed
apples--that scent of new cider which pervades all Normandy at this time
of the year--or the strong odor of cows and the healthy, warm smell of a
dunghill. The dwelling houses could be distinguished by their little
lighted windows, and these tiny lights, scattered over the country, made
Jeanne think of the loneliness of human creatures, and how everything
tends to separate and tear them away from those they love, and her heart
seemed to grow bigger and more capable of understanding the mysteries of
existence.

"Life is not always gay," she said in tones of resignation.

The baron sighed.

"That is true, my child," he replied; "but we cannot help it."

The next day the baron and baroness went away, leaving Jeanne and Julien
alone.

* * * * *

VII

The young couple got into the habit of playing cards; every day after
lunch Jeanne played several games of bezique with her husband, while he
smoked his pipe and drank six or eight glasses of brandy. When they had
finished playing, Jeanne went upstairs to her bedroom, and, sitting by
the window, worked at a petticoat flounce she was embroidering, while
the wind and rain beat against the panes. When her eyes ached she looked
out at the foamy, restless sea, gazed at it for a few minutes, and then
took up her work again.

She had nothing else to do, for Julien had taken the entire management
of the house into his hands, that he might thoroughly satisfy his
longing for authority and his mania for economy. He was exceedingly
stingy; he never gave the servants anything beyond their exact wages,
never allowed any food that was not strictly necessary. Every morning,
ever since she had been at Les Peuples, the baker had made Jeanne a
little Normandy cake, but Julien cut off this expense, and Jeanne had to
content herself with toast.

Wishing to avoid all arguments and quarrels, she never made any remark,
but each fresh proof of her husband's avarice hurt her like the prick of
a needle. It seemed so petty, so odious to her, brought up as she had
been in a family where money was never thought of any importance. How
often she had heard her mother say: "Money is made