did not spend near him, she
employed in household cares, turning the house upside down with great
cleanings, which Melie executed under her supervision, and falling into
fits of reckless activity, which led her to engage in personal combats
with the few saucepans in the kitchen. The garden especially occupied
her; provided with pruning shears, careless of the thorns which
lacerated her hands, she reaped harvests of roses from the giant
rose-bushes; and she gave herself a thorough back-ache in gathering
the apricots, which she sold for two hundred francs to some of the
Englishmen who scoured the district every year. She was very proud of
her bargain, and seriously talked of living upon the garden produce.
Claude cared less for gardening; he had placed his couch in the large
dining-room, transformed into a studio; and he stretched himself upon
it, and through the open window watched her sow and plant. There was
profound peace, the certainty that nobody would come, that no ring at
the bell would disturb them at any moment of the day. Claude carried
this fear of coming into contact with people so far as to avoid passing
Faucheur's inn, for he dreaded lest he might run against some party
of chums from Paris. Not a soul came, however, throughout the livelong
summer. And every night as they went upstairs, he repeated that, after
all, it was deuced lucky.

There was, however, a secret sore in the depths of his happiness.
After their flight from Paris, Sandoz had learnt their address, and had
written to ask whether he might go to see Claude, but the latter had
not answered the letter, and so coolness had followed, and the old
friendship seemed dead. Christine was grieved at this, for she realised
well enough that he had broken off all intercourse with his comrades for
her sake. She constantly reverted to the subject; she did not want to
estrange him from his friends, and indeed she insisted that he should
invite them. But, though he promised to set matters right, he did
nothing of the kind. It was all over; what was the use of raking up the
past?

However, money having become scarce towards the latter days of July, he
was obliged to go to Paris to sell Papa Malgras half a dozen of his old
studies, and Christine, on accompanying him to the station, made him
solemnly promise that he would go to see Sandoz. In the evening she was
there again, at the Bonnieres Station, waiting for him.

'Well, did you see him? did you embrace eac