"The lodge, too, is very fine. It is almost too grand for little people like us, and we have not enough furniture for it. But one need not occupy the whole of it. And besides, it is far from the château, and it ought to be. Masters do not like to have the gardeners too near them. And we, on the other hand, are afraid of being embarrassed. Here each is by himself. That is better for all. Only...." The man hesitated, seized with a sudden timidity, in view of what he had to say. "Only what?" asked the countess, after a silence that increased the man's embarrassment. The latter gripped his cap more tightly, turned it in his fat fingers, rested more heavily on the ground, and, making a bold plunge, exclaimed: "Well, it is this. I wanted to say to Madame the Countess that the wages do not correspond with the place. They are too low. With the best will in the world it would be impossible to make ends meet. Madame the Countess ought to give a little more." "You forget, my friend, that you are lodged, heated, lighted; that you have vegetables and fruits; that I give a dozen eggs a week and a quart of milk a day. It is enormous." "Ah, Madame the Countess gives milk and eggs? And she furnishes light?" And he looked at his wife as if to ask her advice, at the same time murmuring: "Indeed, that is something! One cannot deny it. That is not bad." The woman stammered: "Surely that helps out a little." Then, trembling and embarrassed: "Madame the Countess no doubt gives presents also in the month of January and on Saint Fiacre's day?" "No, nothing." "It is the custom, however." "It is not mine." In his turn the man asked: "And for the weasels and pole-cats?" "No, nothing for those either; you can have the skins." This was said in a dry, decisive tone, that forbade further discussion. And suddenly: "Ah! I warn you, once for all, that I forbid the gardener to sell or give vegetables to any one whomsoever. I know very well that it is necessary to raise too many in order to have enough, and that three-fourths of them are wasted. So much the worse! I intend to allow them to be wasted." "Of course, the same as everywhere else!" "So it is agreed? How long have you been married?" "Six years," answered the woman. "You have no children?" "We had a little girl. She is dead." "Ah! that is well; that is very well," approved the countess, in an indifferent tone. "But you are both young; you may have others yet." "They are hardly to be desired, Madame the Countess, but they are more easily obtained than an income of three hundred francs." The countess's eyes took on a severe expression.