stood there looking at the three
little beds when Marianne joined him. In the bed against the wall at one
end of the room lay Blaise and Denis, the twins, sturdy little fellows
six years of age; while in the second bed against the opposite wall was
Ambroise, now nearly four and quite a little cherub. And the third bed,
a cradle, was occupied by Mademoiselle Rose, fifteen months of age and
weaned for three weeks past. She lay there half naked, showing her white
flowerlike skin, and her mother had to cover her up with the bedclothes,
which she had thrust aside with her self-willed little fists. Meantime
the father busied himself with Ambroise's pillow, which had slipped
aside. Both husband and wife came and went very gently, and bent again
and again over the children's faces to make sure that they were sleeping
peacefully. They kissed them and lingered yet a little longer, fancying
that they had heard Blaise and Denis stirring. At last the mother took
up the lamp and they went off, one after the other, on tiptoe.

When they were in their room again Marianne exclaimed: "I didn't want to
worry you while we were out, but Rose made me feel anxious to-day; I did
not find her well, and it was only this evening that I felt more at ease
about her." Then, seeing that Mathieu started and turned pale, she went
on: "Oh! it was nothing. I should not have gone out if I had felt the
least fear for her. But with those little folks one is never free from
anxiety."

She then began to make her preparations for the night; but Mathieu,
instead of imitating her, sat down at the table where the lamp stood,
and drew the money paid to him by Morange from his pocket. When he had
counted those three hundred francs, those fifteen louis, he said in a
bitter, jesting way, "The money hasn't grown on the road. Here it is;
you can pay our debts to-morrow."

This remark gave him a fresh idea. Taking his pencil he began to jot
down the various amounts they owed on a blank page of his pocket diary.
"We say twelve francs to the Lepailleurs for eggs and milk. How much do
you owe the butcher?" he asked.

"The butcher," replied Marianne, who had sat down to take off her shoes;
"well, say twenty francs."

"And the grocer and the baker?"

"I don't know exactly, but about thirty francs altogether. There is
nobody else."

Then Mathieu added up the items: "That makes sixty-two francs," said he.
"Take them away from three hundred, and we shall have two hundr