en reckoner. And thus, without explaining
to himself the motive for his change of manner, his behavior was harsh,
peremptory, and surly, like that of an ordinary business man, when he
thought the Claes were ruined; accommodating, affectionate, and almost
servile, when he saw reason to believe in a happy issue to his cousin's
labors. Sometimes he beheld an infanta in Margeurite Claes, to whom no
provincial notary might aspire; then he regarded her as any poor girl
too happy if he deigned to make her his wife. He was a true provincial,
and a Fleming; without malevolence, not devoid of devotion and
kindheartedness, but led by a naive selfishness which rendered all his
better qualities incomplete, while certain absurdities of manner spoiled
his personal appearance.

Madame Claes recollected the curt tone in which the notary had spoken to
her that afternoon in the porch of the church, and she took note of the
change which her present reply had wrought in his demeanor; she guessed
its meaning and tried to read her daughter's mind by a penetrating
glance, seeking to discover if she thought of her cousin; but the young
girl's manner showed complete indifference.

After a few moments spent in general conversation on the current topics
of the day, the master of the house came down from his bedroom, where
his wife had heard with inexpressible delight the creaking sound of his
boots as he trod the floor. The step was that of a young and active man,
and foretold so complete a transformation, that the mere expectation
of his appearance made Madame Claes quiver as he descended the stairs.
Balthazar entered, dressed in the fashion of the period. He wore highly
polished top-boots, which allowed the upper part of the white silk
stockings to appear, blue kerseymere small-clothes with gold buttons,
a flowered white waistcoat, and a blue frock-coat. He had trimmed his
beard, combed and perfumed his hair, pared his nails, and washed his
hands, all with such care that he was scarcely recognizable to those
who had seen him lately. Instead of an old man almost decrepit, his
children, his wife, and the notary saw a Balthazar Claes who was forty
years old, and whose courteous and affable presence was full of its
former attractions. The weariness and suffering betrayed by the thin
face and the clinging of the skin to the bones, had in themselves a sort
of charm.

"Good-evening, Pierquin," said Monsieur Claes.

Once more a husband and a father,