That hospitality so kindly and thoughtful touched me deeply; but what proved to me the purity of sentiment of these two women, and their generous confidence in me, was the fact, that they never thought for a moment that the frequency of my visits might compromise them. My arrival always pleased them; I enlivened and brightened their solitude; and if I thanked them with effusion for all their kindness to me, Madame Kerouët would say, naïvely: "Should not we poor country women rather be grateful that you, monsieur, an artist (they supposed I was a painter), should help us to pass our long winter evenings so pleasantly, coming almost every day, three leagues to come and three leagues to go back again,--such horrid weather, too! _Tenez_, M. Arthur," said the good-hearted woman. "I don't know how it has come about, but now you are like one of our own family, and if you had to give up your visits we would be quite miserable and sad, is not that so, Marie?" "Oh, certainly we would, my aunt," said Marie, with adorable candour. I knew that Marie had very few books. She spoke perfectly well both English and Italian. I therefore sent to Paris for a set of books, and ordered them to be sent by way of Nantes, and from Nantes to be forwarded to the farm. Just as I had hoped, the present of the books was attributed to M. Belmont, or to his friend, M. Duvallon. By such means, I succeeded in surrounding Marie and her aunt with a certain degree of comfort which was until then wanting. Little at a time furniture and carpets arrived at the farm, and were received joyfully as an attention from the exile or his friend. Filled with gratitude, Marie wrote a charming letter of thanks to M. Duvallon, who answered her saying that he did not understand a word of Madame Belmont's gratitude. Fearing discovery, I begged Madame Kerouët not to speak any more of these presents, making her believe that M. Belmont had good reasons for wishing for secrecy. Marie's birthday was soon to be celebrated. On that anniversary she was to permit me to enter the mysterious little room she called her study, and which I had not been allowed to see before. Knowing that the room was exactly like the one I inhabited in the opposite tower, such times as I slept all night at the farm, I had sent from Paris, still by the way of Nantes, all that was needed to furnish it with elegance. One of Marie's greatest regrets was that she had neither piano nor harp. I sent then for these two instruments, which were to arrive at the farm in time for Marie's birthday. All these details gave me infinite satisfaction. Every day, well wrapped up, I started from Serval on my pony, braving the rain and the snow. I arrived at the farm, where I found a bright fire crackling in my room. I dressed myself with some care in spite of the everlasting teasing of the worthy _fermière_, who reproached me for being too _coquet_, then I went down into the _grande chambre._