egotism
of her joy, "let her sulk!"

Then throwing her arms around Pascal, and raising to his her charming
face, still glowing with the ardor of self-surrender, she said:

"Master, I will be your servant to-day."

He kissed her on the eyes with grateful emotion; and she at once set
about preparing the breakfast, turning the kitchen upside down. She
had put on an enormous white apron, and she looked charming, with her
sleeves rolled up, showing her delicate arms, as if for some great
undertaking. There chanced to be some cutlets in the kitchen which she
cooked to a turn. She added some scrambled eggs, and she even succeeded
in frying some potatoes. And they had a delicious breakfast, twenty
times interrupted by her getting up in her eager zeal, to run for the
bread, the water, a forgotten fork. If he had allowed her, she would
have waited upon him on her knees. Ah! to be alone, to be only they two
in this large friendly house, and to be free to laugh and to love each
other in peace.

They spent the whole afternoon in sweeping and putting things in order.
He insisted upon helping her. It was a play; they amused themselves like
two merry children. From time to time, however, they went back to knock
at Martine's door to remonstrate with her. Come, this was foolish, she
was not going to let herself starve! Was there ever seen such a mule,
when no one had said or done anything to her! But only the echo of their
knocks came back mournfully from the silent room. Not the slightest
sound, not a breath responded. Night fell, and they were obliged to make
the dinner also, which they ate, sitting beside each other, from the
same plate. Before going to bed, they made a last attempt, threatening
to break open the door, but their ears, glued to the wood, could not
catch the slightest sound. And on the following day, when they went
downstairs and found the door still hermetically closed, they began to
be seriously uneasy. For twenty-four hours the servant had given no sign
of life.

Then, on returning to the kitchen after a moment's absence, Clotilde and
Pascal were stupefied to see Martine sitting at her table, picking some
sorrel for the breakfast. She had silently resumed her place as servant.

"But what was the matter with you?" cried Clotilde. "Will you speak
now?"

She lifted up her sad face, stained by tears. It was very calm, however,
and it expressed now only the resigned melancholy of old age. She looked
at the young