She drew over another chair for herself in front of the stove, where the dishes had all this time been simmering, took Emile upon her knees, and asked César a thousand questions about his father with reference to matters of an intimate nature, which made him feel, without reasoning on the subject, that she had loved Hautot with all the strength of her frail woman's heart. And, by the natural concatenation of his ideas--which were rather limited in number--he recurred once more to the accident, and set about telling the story over again with all the same details. When he said: “He had a hole in his stomach--you could put your two fists into it,” she gave vent to a sort of shriek, and the tears gushed forth again from her eyes. Then, seized by the contagion of her grief, César began to weep, too, and as tears always soften the fibers of the heart, he bent over Emile whose forehead was close to his own mouth and kissed him. The mother, recovering her breath, murmured: “Poor lad, he is an orphan now!” “And so am I,” said César. And they ceased to talk. But suddenly the practical instinct of the housewife, accustomed to be thoughtful about many things, revived in the young woman's breast. “You have perhaps taken nothing all the morning, Monsieur César.” “No, Mam'zelle.” “Oh! you must be hungry. You will eat a morsel.” “Thanks,” he said, “I am not hungry; I have had too much trouble.” She replied: “In spite of sorrow, we must live. You will not refuse to let me get something for you! And then you will remain a little longer. When you are gone I don't know what will become of me.” He yielded after some further resistance, and, sitting down with his back to the fire, facing her, he ate a plateful of tripe, which had been bubbling in the stove, and drank a glass of red wine. But he would not allow her to uncork the bottle of white wine. He several times wiped the mouth of the little boy, who had smeared all his chin with sauce. As he was rising up to go, he asked: “When would you like me to come back to speak about this business to you, Mam'zelle Donet?” “If it is all the same to you, say next Thursday, Monsieur César. In that way I would lose none of my time, as I always have my Thursdays free.” “That will suit me--next Thursday.” “You will come to lunch. Won't you?” “Oh! On that point I can't give you a promise.” “The reason I suggested it is that people can chat better when they are eating. One has more time, too.” “Well, be it so. About twelve o'clock, then.” And he took his departure, after he had again kissed little Emile, and pressed Mademoiselle Donet's hand. III.