He entered. He was received by a woman, a peasant, about seventy years old. The husband, seated under a tree, rose and came forward to bow. "He is deaf," she said. He was a fine old fellow of eighty, amazingly strong, upright, and handsome. They had for servants, a labourer and a farm-girl. My friend, a little surprised to meet these singular persons in the midst of a desert, enquired about them. They had been there for a long time; they were much respected, and passed for being comfortably off, that is, for peasants. He came back several times to visit them, and little by little became the confidant of the wife. He brought her papers and books, being surprised to find that she had some ideas, or rather remains of ideas, which scarcely seemed those of her class. She was, however, neither well read, intelligent nor witty, but there seemed to be, in the depths of her memory, traces of forgotten thoughts, a slumbering recollection of a bye-gone education. One day, she asked him his name: "I am the Count de X...," he said. Moved by the obscure vanity which is lodged deep in all souls, she replied: "I too am noble." Then she went on, speaking for certainly the first time in her life, of this piece of ancient history, unknown to anyone. "I am the daughter of a colonel. My husband was a non-commissioned officer in my father's regiment. I fell in love with him, and we ran away together. "And you came here?" "Yes, we hid ourselves." "And you have never seen your family since?" "Oh no! don't you see my husband was a deserter." "You have never written to anyone?" "Oh no!" "And you have never heard anyone speak of your family, of your father, or mother?" "Oh no, mama was dead." This woman had preserved a certain childishness, the simplicity of those who throw themselves into love, as if over a precipice. He asked again: "You have never told this to anyone?" She answered: "Oh no! I can say it now, because Maurice is deaf. As long as, he could hear, I should not have dared to mention it. Besides, I have never seen anyone but the peasants since I ran away." "At least, then, you have been happy?" "Oh yes; very happy. I have been very happy. I have never regretted anything." Well, I also had gone last year to visit this woman, this couple, as one goes to gaze at some miraculous relic. I had contemplated with surprise, sadness, and even a little disgust, this woman who had followed this man, this rustic Adonis, attracted by his hussar uniform, and who had continued to see him under his peasant's rags, with the blue dolman slung over his back, sword at his side, and the high boot with clanking spur.