iment
to you--yes, simply to spare you the trouble of running to see us so
good-naturedly, in this way, every month."

Generally she did not now give herself the disappointment of going to
Macquart's, but inquired for him at the asylum. But on this occasion,
having learned there that he was passing through an extraordinary attack
of drunkenness, not having drawn a sober breath for a fortnight, and
so intoxicated that he was probably unable to leave the house, she was
seized with the curiosity to learn for herself what his condition really
was. And as she was going back to the station, she went out of her way
in order to stop at Macquart's house.

The day was superb--a warm and brilliant summer day. On either side of
the path which she had taken, she saw the fields that she had given him
in former days--all this fertile land, the price of his secrecy and his
good behavior. Before her appeared the house, with its pink tiles and
its bright yellow walls, looking gay in the sunshine. Under the ancient
mulberry trees on the terrace she enjoyed the delightful coolness and
the beautiful view. What a pleasant and safe retreat, what a happy
solitude was this for an old man to end in joy and peace a long and
well-spent life!

But she did not see him, she did not hear him. The silence was profound.
The only sound to be heard was the humming of the bees circling around
the tall marshmallows. And on the terrace there was nothing to be seen
but a little yellow dog, stretched at full length on the bare ground,
seeking the coolness of the shade. He raised his head growling, about to
bark, but, recognizing the visitor, he lay down again quietly.

Then, in this peaceful and sunny solitude she was seized with a strange
chill, and she called:

"Macquart! Macquart!"

The door of the house under the mulberry trees stood wide open. But she
did not dare to go in; this empty house with its wide open door gave her
a vague uneasiness. And she called again:

"Macquart! Macquart!"

Not a sound, not a breath. Profound silence reigned again, but the
humming of the bees circling around the tall marshmallows sounded louder
than before.

At last Felicite, ashamed of her fears, summoned courage to enter. The
door on the left of the hall, opening into the kitchen, where Uncle
Macquart generally sat, was closed. She pushed it open, but she could
distinguish nothing at first, as the blinds had been closed, probably
in order to shut out the heat.