ned, the plaster had cracked, the old walls bowed inward; last, not
three weeks ago, the cellar-door had begun to work with difficulty in its
grooves. "The cellar!" he said, gravely shaking his head over a glass of
mulled wine. "That reminds me of my poor vintages. By a manifest
providence the Hermitage was nearly at an end. One bottle--I lose but one
bottle of that incomparable wine. It had been set apart against
Jean-Marie's wedding. Well, I must lay down some more; it will be an
interest in life. I am, however, a man somewhat advanced in years. My
great work is now buried in the fall of my humble roof; it will never be
completed--my name will have been writ in water. And yet you find me
calm--I would say cheerful. Can your priest do more?"

By the first glimpse of day the party sallied forth from the fireside
into the street. The wind had fallen, but still charioted a world of
troubled clouds; the air bit like frost; and the party, as they stood
about the ruins in the rainy twilight of the morning, beat upon their
breasts and blew into their hands for warmth. The house had entirely
fallen, the walls outward, the roof in; it was a mere heap of rubbish,
with here and there a forlorn spear of broken rafter. A sentinel was
placed over the ruins to protect the property, and the party adjourned to
Tentaillon's to break their fast at the Doctor's expense. The bottle
circulated somewhat freely; and before they left the table it had begun
to snow.

For three days the snow continued to fall, and the ruins, covered with
tarpaulin and watched by sentries, were left undisturbed. The Desprez
meanwhile had taken up their abode at Tentaillon's. Madame spent her time
in the kitchen, concocting little delicacies, with the admiring aid of
Madame Tentaillon, or sitting by the fire in thoughtful abstraction. The
fall of the house affected her wonderfully little; that blow had been
parried by another; and in her mind she was continually fighting over
again the battle of the trousers. Had she done right? Had she done wrong?
And now she would applaud her determination; and anon, with a horrid
flush of unavailing penitence, she would regret the trousers. No juncture
in her life had so much exercised her judgment. In the meantime the
Doctor had become vastly pleased with his situation. Two of the summer
boarders still lingered behind the rest, prisoners for lack of a
remittance; they were both English, but one of them spoke French pretty
flu