Deep emotion was stirring him. He walked about the room gazing around in the hope of finding pen and ink. Hélène quickly tried to appease him, but he still went on: “I would rather sign a paper for you. What harm would it do you? Your mind would be all the easier with it.” However, just at that moment Jeanne, who had again run away, returned, jumping and clapping her hands. “Rosalie! Rosalie! Rosalie!” she chanted in a dancing tune of her own composition. Through the open doorway one could hear the panting of the maid as she climbed up the stairs laden with her basket. Zephyrin started back into a corner of the room, his mouth wide agape from ear to ear in silent laughter, and the gimlet holes of his eyes gleaming with rustic roguery. Rosalie came straight into the room, as was her usual practice, to show her mistress her morning’s purchase of provisions. “Madame,” said she, “I’ve brought some cauliflowers. Look at them! Only eighteen sous for two; it isn’t dear, is it?” She held out the basket half open, but on lifting her head noticed Zephyrin’s grinning face. Surprise nailed her to the carpet. Two or three seconds slipped away; she had doubtless at first failed to recognize him in his uniform. But then her round eyes dilated, her fat little face blanched, and her coarse black hair waved in agitation. “Oh!” she simply said. But her astonishment was such that she dropped her basket. The provisions, cauliflowers, onions, apples, rolled on to the carpet. Jeanne gave a cry of delight, and falling on her knees, began hunting for the apples, even under the chairs and the wardrobe. Meanwhile Rosalie, as though paralyzed, never moved, though she repeated: “What! it’s you! What are you doing here? what are you doing here? Say!” Then she turned to Hélène with the question: “Was it you who let him come in?” Zephyrin never uttered a word, but contented himself with winking slily. Then Rosalie gave vent to her emotion in tears; and, to show her delight at seeing him again, could hit on nothing better than to quiz him. “Oh! go away!” she began, marching up to him. “You look neat and pretty I must say in that guise of yours! I might have passed you in the street, and not even have said: ‘God bless you.’ Oh! you’ve got a nice rig-out. You just look as if you had your sentry-box on your back; and they’ve cut your hair so short that folks might take you for the sexton’s poodle. Good heavens! what a fright you are; what a fright!” Zephyrin, very indignant, now made up his mind to speak. “It’s not my fault, that’s sure! Oh! if you joined a regiment we should see a few things.” They had quite forgotten where they were; everything had vanished—the room, Hélène and Jeanne, who was still gathering the apples together. With hands folded over her apron, the maid stood upright in front of the little soldier. “Is everything all right down there?” she asked.