er bedroom at Les
Peuples was hung in the dining-room, which was also to serve as
drawing-room, and Jeanne took especial pains over the arrangement of one
of the rooms on the first floor, which in her own mind she had already
named "Poulet's room;" she was to have the other one on that floor, and
Rosalie was to sleep upstairs next to the box-room. The little house
thus tastefully arranged, looked pretty when it was all finished, and at
first Jeanne was pleased with it though she was haunted by the feeling
that there was something missing though she could not tell what.

One morning a clerk came over from the attorney at Fecamp with the three
thousand six hundred francs, the price at which an upholsterer had
valued the furniture left at Les Peuples. Jeanne felt a thrill of
pleasure as she took the money, for she had not expected to get so
much, and as soon as the man had gone she put on her hat and hurried off
to Goderville to send Paul this unlooked-for sum as quickly as possible.
But as she was hastening along the road she met Rosalie coming back from
market; the maid suspected that something had happened though she did
not at once guess the truth. She soon found it out, however, for Jeanne
could not hide anything from her, and placing her basket on the ground
to give way to her wrath at her ease, she put her hands on her hips and
scolded Jeanne at the top of her voice; then she took hold of her
mistress with her right hand and her basket with her left and walked on
again towards the house in a great passion. As soon as they were indoors
Rosalie ordered the money to be given into her care, and Jeanne gave it
her with the exception of the six hundred francs which she said nothing
about; but this trick was soon detected and Jeanne had to give it all
up. However, Rosalie consented to these odd hundreds being sent to the
young man, who in a few days wrote to thank his mother for the money.
"It was a most welcome present, mother dear," he said, "for we were
reduced to utter want."

Time went on but Jeanne could not get accustomed to her new home. It
seemed as if she could not breathe freely at Batteville, and she felt
more alone and forsaken than ever. She would often walk as far as the
village of Verneuil and come back through Trois-Mares, but as soon as
she was home she started up to go out again as if she had forgotten to
go to the very place to which she had meant to walk. The same thing
happened time after time and sh