arms,
a common face, as dull as an "occasional piece" at the play, and hardly
to be persuaded out of wearing the classical linen cap peculiar to the
women of Lower Normandy. This girl, as buxom as a wet-nurse, looked
as if she would burst the blue cotton check in which she clothed her
person. Her florid face might have been hewn out of stone, so hard were
its tawny outlines.

Of course no attention was paid to the advent in the house of this girl,
whose name was Agathe--an ordinary, wide-awake specimen, such as is
daily imported from the provinces. Agathe had no attractions for the
cook, her tongue was too rough, for she had served in a suburban inn,
waiting on carters; and instead of making a conquest of her chief and
winning from him the secrets of the high art of the kitchen, she was
the object of his great contempt. The _chef's_ attentions were, in fact,
devoted to Louise, the Countess Steinbock's maid. The country girl,
thinking herself ill-used, complained bitterly that she was always sent
out of the way on some pretext when the _chef_ was finishing a dish or
putting the crowning touch to a sauce.

"I am out of luck," said she, "and I shall go to another place."

And yet she stayed though she had twice given notice to quit.

One night, Adeline, roused by some unusual noise, did not see Hector in
the bed he occupied near hers; for they slept side by side in two beds,
as beseemed an old couple. She lay awake an hour, but he did not return.
Seized with a panic, fancying some tragic end had overtaken him--an
apoplectic attack, perhaps--she went upstairs to the floor occupied by
the servants, and then was attracted to the room where Agathe slept,
partly by seeing a light below the door, and partly by the murmur
of voices. She stood still in dismay on recognizing the voice of her
husband, who, a victim to Agathe's charms, to vanquish this strapping
wench's not disinterested resistance, went to the length of saying:

"My wife has not long to live, and if you like you may be a Baroness."

Adeline gave a cry, dropped her candlestick, and fled.

Three days later the Baroness, who had received the last sacraments, was
dying, surrounded by her weeping family.

Just before she died, she took her husband's hand and pressed it,
murmuring in his ear:

"My dear, I had nothing left to give up to you but my life. In a minute
or two you will be free, and can make another Baronne Hulot."

And, rare sight, tears oozed from h