r,
and they went because a poor girl was living there in grief and
solitude, and secretly nourished by those two men.

She remained there until the German troops departed, and then one
evening the priest borrowed the baker's cart, and himself drove his
prisoner to Rouen. When they got there, he embraced her, and she quickly
went back on foot to the establishment from which she had come, where
the proprietress, who thought that she was dead, was very glad to see
her.

A short time afterwards, a patriot who had no prejudices, and who liked
her because of her bold deed, and who afterwards loved her for herself,
married her, and made a lady of her, who was quite as good as many
others.

THE STORY OF A FARM-GIRL

PART I

As the weather was very fine, the people on the farm had dined more
speedily than usual, and had returned to the fields.

The female servant, Rose, remained alone in the large kitchen, where the
fire on the hearth was dying out, under the large boiler of hot water.
From time to time she took some water out of it, and slowly washed her
plates and dishes, stopping occasionally to look at the two streaks of
light which the sun threw onto the long table through the window, and
which showed the defects in the glass.

Three venturesome hens were picking up the crumbs under the chairs,
while the smell of the poultry yard, and the warmth from the cow-stall
came in through the half-open door, and a cock was heard crowing in the
distance.

When she had finished her work, wiped down the table, dusted the
mantel-piece, and put the plates onto the high dresser, close to the
wooden clock, with its enormous _tic-tac_, she drew a long breath, as
she felt rather oppressed, without exactly knowing why. She looked at
the black clay walls, the rafters that were blackened with smoke, from
which spiders' webs were hanging, amid pickled herrings and strings of
onions, and then she sat down, rather overcome by the stale emanations
which the floor, onto which so many things had been continually spilt,
gave out. With this, there was mingled the pungent smell of the pans of
milk, which were set out to raise the cream in the adjoining dairy.

She wanted to sew, as usual, but she did not feel strong enough for it,
and so she went to get a mouthful of fresh air at the door, which seemed
to do her good.

The fowls were lying on the smoking dung-hill; some of them were
scratching with one claw in search of worms, whil