Here everything goes on in the same way, except that there are fewer events and still greater silence. Joseph's work is done by the sacristan, out of friendship. He comes every day, punctually, to groom the horses and to tend to the garden-frames. Impossible to get a single word out of him. He is more silent and suspicious than Joseph, and his manners are more doubtful. He is more ordinary, too, and lacks his greatness and power. I see him only when I have an order to deliver to him. He is a queer type, too. The grocer tells me that, when young, he studied for the priesthood, and was expelled from the seminary on account of his indelicacy and immorality. May it not have been he who outraged the little Claire in the woods? Since then, he has tried his hand at all trades. Now a pastry-cook, now a church-singer, now a peddler, a notary's clerk, a domestic, the town drummer, an auctioneer, and an employee in the sheriff's office, for the last four years he has been sacristan. To be sacristan is to be also something of a priest. Moreover, he has all the slimy and crawling manners of the ecclesiastical bugs. Surely he would not recoil from the vilest tasks. Joseph does wrong to make him his friend. But is he his friend? Is he not, rather, his accomplice? Madame has a sick headache. It seems she has one regularly every three months. For two days she remains shut up in her room, with drawn curtains and without light, only Marianne being allowed to enter. She does not want me. Madame's sickness means a good time for Monsieur. Monsieur makes the most of it. He does not leave the kitchen. Captain Mauger, who does not speak to me any more, but casts furious glances at me over the hedge, has become reconciled with his family,--at least, with one of his nieces, who has come to live with him. She is not bad-looking,--a tall blonde with a nose that is too long, but with a fresh complexion and a good figure. People say she is to keep the house, and take Rose's place. As for Mme. Gouin, Rose's death must have been a blow to her Sunday mornings. She saw at once that she could not get along without a leading lady. Now, it is that pest of a haberdasher who leads off in the gossip, and undertakes to maintain the admiration of the girls of Mesnil-Roy for the clandestine talents of this infamous grocer. Yesterday being Sunday, I went to the grocery-shop. It was a very brilliant occasion; they were all there. There was very little said about Rose, and, when I told the story of the wills, there was a general shout of laughter. Ah! the captain was right when he said to me: "Everything can be replaced." But the haberdasher has not Rose's authority, for she is a woman concerning whom, from the point of view of morals, there unhappily is nothing to be said.