His house, too, was different from those about him. Behind the full white curtains stood a pot of flowers, sweet basil or gillyflowers, and the furniture was carefully waxed and polished; and Rondic was delighted, when he returned home at night, to find so carefully arranged a home, and a wife as neatly dressed as if it were Sunday. He never asked himself why Clarisse, after the house was in order for the day, took her seat at the window with folded hands, instead of occupying herself with needlework, like other women whose days were far too short for all their duties. He supposed, innocently enough, that his wife thought only of him while adorning herself; but the whole village of Indret could have told him that another occupied all her thoughts, and in this gossip the names of Madame Rondic and Chariot were never separated. They said that the two had known each other before Madame Rondic’s marriage, and that if the nephew had wished he could have married the lady, instead of his uncle. But the young fellow had no such desire. He merely thought that Clarisse was charmingly pretty, and that it would be very nice to have her for his aunt. But later, when they were thrown so much together, while Father Rondic slept in the arm-chair and Zénaïde sewed at the château, these two natures were irresistibly attracted toward each other. But no one had a right to make any invidious remark; they had, besides, always watching over them a pair of frightfully suspicious eyes, those of Zénaïde. She had a way of interrupting their interviews, of appearing suddenly, when least expected; and, however fatigued she might be by her day’s work, she took her seat in the chimney-corner with her knitting. Zénaïde, in fact, played the part of the jealous and suspicious husband. Picture to yourself, if you please, a husband with all the instincts and clearsightedness of a woman! The warfare between herself and Chariot was incessant, and the little outbursts served to conceal the real antipathy; but while Father Rondic smiled contentedly, Clarisse turned pale as if at distant thunder. Zénaïde had triumphed: she had so managed at the château that the Director had decided to send Chariot to Guérigny, to study a new model of a machine there. Months would be necessary for him to perfect his work. Clarisse understood very well that Zénaïde was at the bottom of this movement, but she was not altogether displeased at Chariot’s departure; she flung herself on Zénaïde’s stronger nature, and entreated her protection.