PARIS
LOUIS CONARD, LIBRAIRE-EDITEUR
17, BOULEVARD DE LA MADELEINE, 17
MDCCCCX

Pour cent francs par an, elle faisait la cuisine et le
m\u00e9nage, cousait, lavait, repassait, savait brider un cheval,
engraisser les volailles, battre le beurre, et resta fid\u00e8le \u00e0 sa
ma\u00eetresse, -- qui cependant n'\u00e9tait pas une personne
agr\u00e9able.

Elle avait \u00e9pous\u00e9 un beau gar\u00e7on sans fortune, mort au
commencement de 1809, en lui laissant deux enfants tr\u00e8s
jeunes avec une quantit\u00e9 de dettes. Alors elle vendit ses
immeubles, sauf la ferme de Toucques et la ferme de
Geffosses, dont les rentes montaient \u00e0 5, 000 francs tout
au plus, et elle quitta sa maison de Saint-Melaine pour en
habiter une autre moins dispendieuse, ayant appartenu \u00e0
ses anc\u00eatres et plac\u00e9e derri\u00e8re les halles.

Cette maison, rev\u00eatue d'ardoises, se trouvait entre un
passage et une ruelle aboutissant \u00e0 la rivi\u00e8re. Elle avait
int\u00e9rieurement des diff\u00e9rences de niveau qui faisaient
tr\u00e9bucher. Un vestibule \u00e9troit s\u00e9parait la cuisine de la
_salle_ o\u00f9 Mme Aubain se tenait tout le long du jour,
assise pr\u00e8s de la crois\u00e9e dans un fauteuil de paille. Contre
le lambris, peint en blanc, s'alignaient huit chaises
d'acajou. Un vieux piano supportait, sous un barom\u00e8tre,
un tas pyramidal de bo\u00eetes et de cartons. Deux berg\u00e8res de
tapisserie flanquaient la chemis\u00e9e en marbre jaune et de
style Louis XV. La pendule, au milieu, repr\u00e9sentait un
temple de Vesta, -- et tout l'appartement sentait un peu le
moisi, car le plancher \u00e9tait plus bas que le jardin.

Au premier \u00e9tage, il y avait d'abord la chambre de
"Madame", tr\u00e8s grande, tendue d'un papier \u00e0 fleurs p\u00e2les,
et contenant le portrait de "Monsieur" en costume de
muscadin. Elle communiquait avec une chambre plus
petite, o\u00f9 l'on voyait deux couchettes d'enfants, sans
matelas. Puis venait le salon, toujours ferm\u00e9, et rempli de
meubles recouverts d'un drap. Ensuite un corridor menait
\u00e0 un cabinet d'\u00e9tudes; des livres et des paperasses
garnissaient les rayons d'une biblioth\u00e8que entourant de
ses trois c\u00f4t\u00e9s un large bureau de bois noir. Les deux
panneaux en retour disparaissaient sous des dessins \u00e0 la
plume, des paysages \u00e0 la gouache et des gravures
d'Audran, souvenirs d'un temps meilleur et d'un luxe
\u00e9vanoui. Une lucarne au second \u00e9tage \u00e9clairait la chambre
de F\u00e9licit\u00e9, ayant vue sur les prairies.

For a hundred francs a year, she cooked and did the
housework, washed, ironed, mended, harnessed the
horse, fattened the poultry, made the butter and remained
faithful to her mistress\u2014although the latter was by no
means an agreeable person.

Madame Aubain had married a comely youth without
any money, who died in the beginning of 1809, leaving
her with two young children and a number of debts. She
sold all her property excepting the farm of Toucques and
the farm of Geffosses, the income of which barely
amounted to 5,000 francs; then she left her house in
Saint-Melaine, and moved into a less pretentious one
which had belonged to her ancestors and stood back of
the market-place.

This house, with its slate-covered roof, was built
between a passage-way and a narrow street that led to the
river. The interior was so unevenly graded that it caused
people to stumble. A narrow hall separated the kitchen
from the parlour, where Madame Aubain sat all day in a
straw armchair near the window. Eight mahogany chairs
stood in a row against the white wainscoting. An old
piano, standing beneath a barometer, was covered with a
pyramid of old books and boxes. On either side of the
yellow marble mantelpiece, in Louis XV. style, stood a
tapestry armchair. The clock represented a temple of
Vesta; and the whole room smelled musty, as it was on a
lower level than the garden.

On the first floor was Madame's bed-chamber, a large
room papered in a flowered design and containing the
portrait of Monsieur dressed in the costume of a dandy. It
communicated with a smaller room, in which there were
two little cribs, without any mattresses. Next, came the
parlour (always closed), filled with furniture covered with
sheets. Then a hall, which led to the study, where books
and papers were piled on the shelves of a book-case that
enclosed three quarters of the big black desk. Two panels
were entirely hidden under pen-and-ink sketches,
Gouache landscapes and Audran engravings, relics of
better times and vanished luxury. On the second floor, a
garret-window lighted Felicite's room, which looked out
upon the meadows.

Elle se levait d\u00e8s l'aube, pour ne pas manquer la messe,
et travaillait jusqu'au soir sans interruption; puis, le d\u00eener
\u00e9tant fini, la vaisselle en ordre et la porte bien close, elle
enfouissait la b\u00fbche sous les cendres et s'endormait
devant l'\u00e2tre, son rosaire \u00e0 la main. Personne, dans les
marchandages, ne montrait plus d'ent\u00eatement. Quant \u00e0 la
propret\u00e9, le poli de ses casseroles faisait le d\u00e9sespoir des
autres servantes. Econome, elle mangeait avec lenteur, et
recueillait du doigt sur la table les miettes de son pain, --
un pain de douze livres, cuit expr\u00e8s pour elle, et qui durait
vingt jours.

En toute saison, elle portait un mouchoir d'indienne fix\u00e9
dans le dos par une \u00e9pingle, un bonnet lui cachant les
cheveux, des bas gris, un jupon rouge, et par-dessus sa
camisole un tablier \u00e0 bavette, comme les infirmi\u00e8res
d'h\u00f4pital.

Son visage \u00e9tait maigre et sa voix aigu\u00eb. A vingt-cinq
ans, on lui en donnait quarante. D\u00e8s la cinquantaine, elle
ne marqua plus aucun \u00e2ge; -- et, toujours silencieuse, la
taille droite et les gestes mesur\u00e9s, semblait une femme en
bois, fonctionnant d'une mani\u00e8re automatique.

Son p\u00e8re, un ma\u00e7on, s'\u00e9tait tu\u00e9 en tombant d'un
\u00e9chafaudage. Puis sa m\u00e8re mourut, ses soeurs se
dispers\u00e8rent, un fermier la recueillit, et l'employa toute
petite \u00e0 garder les vaches dans la campagne. Elle grelottait
sous des haillons, buvait \u00e0 plat ventre l'eau des mares, \u00e0
propos de rien \u00e9tait battue, et finalement fut chass\u00e9e pour
un vol de trente sols, qu'elle n'avait pas commis. Elle entra
dans une autre ferme, y devint fille de basse-cour, et,
comme elle plaisait aux patrons, ses camarades la
jalousaient.

Un soir du mois d'ao\u00fbt (elle avait alors dix-huit ans), ils
l'entra\u00een\u00e8rent \u00e0 l'assembl\u00e9e de Colleville. Tout de suite elle
fut \u00e9tourdie, stup\u00e9faite par le tapage des m\u00e9n\u00e9triers, les
lumi\u00e8res dans les arbres, la bigarrure des costumes, les
dentelles, les croix d'or, cette masse de monde sautant \u00e0 la
fois. Elle se tenait \u00e0 l'\u00e9cart modestement, quand un jeune
homme d'apparence cossue, et qui fumait sa pipe les deux
coudes sur le timon d'un banneau, vint l'inviter \u00e0 la danse.
Il lui paya du cidre, du caf\u00e9, de la galette, un foulard, et,
s'imaginant qu'elle le devinait, offrit de la reconduire. Au
bord d'un champ d'avoine, il la renversa brutalement. Elle
eut peur et se mit \u00e0 crier. Il s'\u00e9loigna.

Un autre soir, sur la route de Beaumont, elle voulut
d\u00e9passer un grand chariot de foin qui avan\u00e7ait lentement,
et en fr\u00f4lant les roues elle reconnut Th\u00e9odore.

She arose at daybreak, in order to attend mass, and she
worked without interruption until night; then, when
dinner was over, the dishes cleared away and the door
securely locked, she would bury the log under the ashes
and fall asleep in front of the hearth with a rosary in her
hand. Nobody could bargain with greater obstinacy, and
as for cleanliness, the lustre on her brass sauce-pans was
the envy and despair of other servants. She was most
economical, and when she ate she would gather up
crumbs with the tip of her finger, so that nothing should
be wasted of the loaf of bread weighing twelve pounds
which was baked especially for her and lasted three
weeks.

Summer and winter she wore a dimity kerchief fastened
in the back with a pin, a cap which concealed her hair, a
red skirt, grey stockings, and an apron with a bib like
those worn by hospital nurses.

Her face was thin and her voice shrill. When she was twenty-five, she looked forty. After she had passed fifty, nobody could tell her age; erect and silent always, she resembled a wooden figure working automatically.

Her father, who was a mason, was killed by falling from
a scaffolding. Then her mother died and her sisters went
their different ways; a farmer took her in, and while she
was quite small, let her keep cows in the fields. She was
clad in miserable rags, beaten for the slightest offence and
finally dismissed for a theft of thirty sous which she did
not commit. She took service on another farm where she
tended the poultry; and as she was well thought of by her
master, her fellow-workers soon grew jealous.

One evening in August (she was then eighteen years
old), they persuaded her to accompany them to the fair at
Colleville. She was immediately dazzled by the noise, the
lights in the trees, the brightness of the dresses, the laces
and gold crosses, and the crowd of people all hopping at
the same time. She was standing modestly at a distance,
when presently a young man of well-to-do appearance,
who had been leaning on the pole of a wagon and smoking
his pipe, approached her, and asked her for a dance. He
treated her to cider and cake, bought her a silk shawl, and
then, thinking she had guessed his purpose, offered to see
her home. When they came to the end of a field he threw
her down brutally. But she grew frightened and screamed,
and he walked off.

One evening, on the road leading to Beaumont, she
came upon a wagon loaded with hay, and when she
overtook it, she recognised Theodore.

Aussit\u00f4t il parla des r\u00e9coltes et des notables de la
commune, car son p\u00e8re avait abandonn\u00e9 Colleville pour la
ferme des Ecots, de sorte que maintenant ils se trouvaient
voisins.

Il ajouta qu'on d\u00e9sirait l'\u00e9tablir. Du reste, il n'\u00e9tait pas press\u00e9, et attendait une femme \u00e0 son go\u00fbt. Elle baissa la t\u00eate. Alors il lui demanda si elle pensait au mariage. Elle reprit, en souriant, que c'\u00e9tait mal de se moquer.

Et du bras gauche il lui entoura la taille; elle marchait
soutenue par son \u00e9treinte; ils se ralentirent. Le vent \u00e9tait
mou, les \u00e9toiles brillaient, l'\u00e9norme charret\u00e9e de foin
oscillait devant eux; et les quatre chevaux, en tra\u00eenant
leurs pas, soulevaient de la poussi\u00e8re. Puis, sans
commandement, ils tourn\u00e8rent \u00e0 droite. Il l'embrassa
encore une fois. Elle disparut dans l'ombre.

Ils se rencontraient au fond des cours, derri\u00e8re un mur,
sous un arbre isol\u00e9. Elle n'\u00e9tait pas innocente \u00e0 la mani\u00e8re
des demoiselles, -- les animaux l'avaient instruite; -- mais
la raison et l'instinct de l'honneur l'emp\u00each\u00e8rent de faillir.
Cette r\u00e9sistance exasp\u00e9ra l'amour de Th\u00e9odore, si bien
que pour le satisfaire (ou na\u00efvement peut-\u00eatre) il proposa
de l'\u00e9pouser. Elle h\u00e9sitait \u00e0 le croire. Il fit de grands
serments.

Bient\u00f4t il avoua quelque chose de f\u00e2cheux: ses parents,
l'ann\u00e9e derni\u00e8re, lui avaient achet\u00e9 un homme; mais d'un
jour \u00e0 l'autre on pourrait le reprendre; l'id\u00e9e de servir
l'effrayait. Cette couardise fut pour F\u00e9licit\u00e9 une preuve de
tendresse; la sienne en redoubla. Elle s'\u00e9chappait la nuit,
et, parvenue au rendez-vous, Th\u00e9odore la torturait avec
ses inqui\u00e9tudes et ses instances.

Enfin, il annon\u00e7a qu'il irait lui-m\u00eame \u00e0 la Pr\u00e9fecture prendre des informations, et les apporterait dimanche prochain, entre onze heures et minuit.

He greeted her calmly, and asked her to forget what had
happened between them, as it "was all the fault of the
drink."

Presently he began to speak of the harvest and of the
notables of the village; his father had left Colleville and
bought the farm of Les Ecots, so that now they would be
neighbours.

He then added that his parents were looking around for
a wife for him, but that he, himself, was not so anxious
and preferred to wait for a girl who suited him. She hung
her head. He then asked her whether she had ever
thought of marrying. She replied, smilingly, that it was
wrong of him to make fun of her.

And put his left arm around her waist while they
sauntered along. The air was soft, the stars were bright,
and the huge load of hay oscillated in front of them,
drawn by four horses whose ponderous hoofs raised
clouds of dust. Without a word from their driver they
turned to the right. He kissed her again and she went
home.

They met in yards, behind walls or under isolated trees.
She was not ignorant, as girls of well-to-do families are\u2014
for the animals had instructed her;\u2014but her reason and
her instinct of honour kept her from falling. Her
resistance exasperated Theodore's love and so in order to
satisfy it (or perchance ingenuously), he offered to marry
her. She would not believe him at first, so he made solemn
promises.

But, in a short time he mentioned a difficulty; the
previous year, his parents had purchased a substitute for
him; but any day he might be drafted and the prospect of
serving in the army alarmed him greatly. To Felicite his
cowardice appeared a proof of his love for her, and her
devotion to him grew stronger. When she met him, he
would torture her with his fears and his entreaties.

At last, he announced that he was going to the prefect
himself for information, and would let her know
everything on the following Sunday, between eleven
o'clock and midnight.