is heard the howling of a violent
tempest, which has arisen during the night; a frequent formidable
noise, like the discharge of artillery, thunders in the distance, and
is repeated by the echoes of the shore; it is the sea breaking with fury
against the high rocks which are overlooked by the ancient Manor House.

It is about seven o'clock in the morning. Daylight is not yet visible
through the windows of a large room situated on the ground-floor. In
this apartment, in which a lamp is burning, a woman of about sixty years
of age, with a simple and honest countenance, dressed as a rich
farmer's wife of Picardy, is already occupied with her needle-work,
notwithstanding the early hour. Close by, the husband of this woman,
about the same age as herself, is seated at a large table, sorting and
putting up in bags divers samples of wheat and oats. The face of this
white-haired man is intelligent and open, announcing good sense
and honesty, enlivened by a touch of rustic humor; he wears a
shooting-jacket of green cloth, and long gaiters of tan-colored leather,
which half conceal his black velveteen breeches.

The terrible storm which rages without renders still more agreeable
the picture of this peaceful interior. A rousing fire burns in a broad
chimney-place faced with white marble, and throws its joyous light on
the carefully polished floor; nothing can be more cheerful than the old
fashioned chintz hangings and curtains with red Chinese figures upon a
white ground, and the panels over the door painted with pastoral scenes
in the style of Watteau. A clock of Sevres china, and rosewood furniture
inlaid with green--quaint and portly furniture, twisted into all sorts
of grotesque shapes--complete the decorations of this apartment.

Out-doors, the gale continued to howl furiously, and sometimes a gust
of wind would rush down the chimney, or shake the fastenings of the
windows. The man who was occupied in sorting the samples of grain was M.
Dupont, bailiff of Cardoville manor.

"Holy Virgin!" said his wife; "what dreadful weather, my dear! This
M. Rodin, who is to come here this morning, as the Princess de Saint
Dizier's steward announced to us, picked out a very bad day for it."

"Why, in truth, I have rarely heard such a hurricane. If M. Rodin has
never seen the sea in its fury, he may feast his eyes to-day with the
sight."

"What can it be that brings this M. Rodin, my dear?"

"Faith! I know nothing about it. The stewar