cigarette, she opened the window to cry: "Oh, don't go
out without a hat, you will catch cold in your head"; and when, at
night, he mounted his horse to return, she could hardly contain herself
for nervousness, and entreated her son not to be reckless.

"Do not ride too quickly, Poulet, dear," she would say. "Think of your
poor mother, who would go mad if anything happened to you, and be
careful."

One Saturday morning she received a letter from Paul to say he should
not come to Les Peuples as usual, the following day, as he had been
invited to a party some of his college friends had got up. The whole of
Sunday Jeanne was tortured by a presentiment of evil, and when Thursday
came, she was unable to bear her suspense any longer, and went over to
Havre.

Paul seemed changed, though she could hardly tell in what way. He seemed
more spirited, and his words and tones were more manly.

"By the way, mamma, we are going on another excursion and I sha'n't come
to Les Peuples next Sunday, as you have come to see me to-day," he said,
all at once, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Jeanne felt as much surprised and stunned as if he had told her he was
going to America; then, when she was again able to speak:

"Oh, Poulet," she exclaimed, "what is the matter with you? Tell me what
is going on."

He laughed and gave her a kiss.

"Why, nothing at all, mamma. I am only going to enjoy myself with some
friends, as everyone does at my age."

She made no reply, but when she was alone in the carriage, her head was
filled with new and strange ideas. She had not recognized her Poulet,
her little Poulet, as of old; she perceived for the first time that he
was grown up, that he was no longer hers, that henceforth he was going
to live his own life, independently of the old people. To her he seemed
to have changed entirely in a day. What! Was this strong, bearded,
firm-willed lad her son, her little child who used to make her help him
plant his lettuces?

Paul only came to Les Peuples at very long intervals for the next three
months, and even when he was there, it was only too plain that he longed
to get away again as soon as possible, and that, each evening, he tried
to leave an hour earlier. Jeanne imagined all sorts of things, while the
baron tried to console her by saying: "There, let him alone, the boy is
twenty years old, you know."

One morning, a shabbily dressed old man who spoke with a German accent
asked