Chambourdin glanced once more at the girl, who tried to conceal her tears with her flowers, and he said to his companion: “She isn’t of the same style of beauty at all as Madame Boutillon, but she pleases me greatly, none the less.” XXII A BOTTLE OF ABSINTHE Georget ran home to his mother without stopping, without drawing breath; he found her sewing, snatched her work from her hands, and threw it aside, saying: “Drop that, mamma, don’t work any more, don’t tire your eyes any more; hereafter you will be able to enjoy yourself, to be happy, to walk about all day long. Oh, yes; you are going to be very happy, I tell you! Pack up your things quick, we’re going away.” Honest Mère Brunoy gazed at her son in surprise, utterly unable to understand what he said; but his wild manner, his excitement, frightened her, and she exclaimed: “What’s the matter with you, Georget? what has happened to you, my boy? You’re not in your usual condition.” “It’s joy, mother; yes, it’s pleasure, I tell you, good fortune; that upsets a man a little, but I shall get used to it; I will make the best of it and not think of her any more.” “You will make the best of your good fortune! you won’t think of her any more! I don’t understand at all! You talk of joy and of pleasure, and you have tears in your eyes, and you are as pale as death! Do you know that you don’t look at all like a person who brings good news?” “You’re mistaken, mother, I am very happy; for I tell you again, you won’t need to ruin your eyes any more, to wear yourself out working.” “How is that, my dear?” “Because Monsieur Malberg--you know, that gentleman on the third floor who is so kind to us----” “Yes, yes; well?” “Well, we are going to his house in the country--both of us, mother, both of us. Yes, I will go with you and settle down there; I won’t leave you any more; I won’t come to Paris any more--never! never! oh! I have a horror of Paris!” “What’s that, my boy? Monsieur Malberg has offered you a place at his country house, too?” “Why, yes, to be sure; I am to look after the workmen, to take care of his garden and plant it; there are eight acres of it--that’s a pretty good-sized garden, eight acres! He told me that I should be at liberty to arrange it all as I pleased; and you, mother, you will have charge of the house, the linen, the furniture, the poultry yard; and he will give us a thousand francs a year for it.” “A thousand francs! Mon Dieu! why that is a fortune, my boy! It means that our future is provided for; you will not be a messenger any more. We won’t spend the thousand francs; we will save up money to buy you a substitute when you are drafted! For that is what I am always thinking about.--And was it only just now that that generous man offered to employ you at his country house?”