Finally, the path became more devious, and as they advanced the magnificent beauty of the scene burst upon them. Through an opening in the trees the sun burned like a ball of fire. From every hand were wafted strains of rapturous melody. Thousands of feathered songsters were joining in one grand chorus of praise to God. Affected in spite of himself, Savin’s face became more gentle, while Catherine’s softened almost to tenderness. But the moment of possible reconciliation passed, and home was reached. Upon a small bluff, half hidden by trees, stood a cosy little cottage, built of wood and brick. As if conscious of its modest architectural pretensions, the _chalet_ was quite enveloped in a network of clematis and woodbine, and a rustic veranda afforded a picturesque effect to the tiny villa. Behind it the forest plunged into a vast ravine, at the bottom of which brawled a little brook among the rocks. The mid-day sunlight beat upon the _façade_ of the cottage and radiantly glinted the leaves of the surrounding trees, among which a dozen or more poplars extended a grateful shade over the little garden. Catherine and Savin did not linger without, but entered the house together. The former, throwing upon the table the fichu she had worn, seated herself by the open window and began nervously tapping the floor with her foot. A quarrel seemed imminent. Once more in their own home Catherine knew her husband would cease to be vehement. Barrau seated himself on one side of the table and watched Patachaud as he eagerly drank a cup of water which was always ready for him. Two strangers passed by, remarking on the flowers which covered the cottage roof. At length, Barrau rose from his chair and broke the silence by saying: “We must have dinner now, Catherine.” “You are hungry, then,” said she, with reproach. “Well, then, go and eat. I do not prevent you. Surely in order to keep so _strong_ as you are, you must eat heartily.” Her words cut him to his soul’s quick. “Do not be rebellious, Catherine. Come, now.” She bounded to her feet and bent upon him her flashing eyes. “It is I who am wrong, then. I am the culprit, eh? You strike me, and then call me rebellious. Indeed, I ought to rebel, and for good, too.” “Catherine,” said Savin severely. “Ah, why did I marry a common brutal soldier?” Barrau blushed. The thrust struck home. “Enough! Enough!” said he, rudely; “I am the master here, at least. And any honest woman should not make such a remark.” “Indeed! I am a worthless jade, am I? A coquette? A good-for-nothing?” Savin made an impatient gesture. “Say it,” she went on; “do not hesitate.” As though to prevent further disagreement, Savin started to go, but his anger forced him to stop and say: “Ah, well, yes. Yes, then! A woman who compromises herself in the presence of evil tongues has no self-respect.” “Take care!” cried Catherine, advancing toward him in anger.