"They would be very much satisfied with your husband, and you would have some allowances from your master, a poultry-yard, a garden; and, in fact, you would have to work very hard, La Louve, from morning till night." "Oh, if that were all, if I once had my good man near me, I should not be afraid of work! I have stout arms." "And you would have plenty to employ them, I will answer for that. There is so much to do,--so much to do! There is the stable to clean, the meals to get ready, the clothes to mend; to-day is washing day, next day there's the bread to bake, or perhaps the house to clean from top to bottom; and, then, the other keepers would say, 'There is no such manager as Martial's wife; from the cellar to the garret, in her house, it is a pattern of cleanliness, and the children are taken such care of! But then she is so very industrious, Madame Martial.'" "Really though, La Goualeuse, is it true? I should call myself Madame Martial," said La Louve, with a sort of pride,--"Madame Martial!" "Which is better than being called La Louve,--is it not?" "_Pardieu!_ Why, there's no doubt but I should rather be called by my man's name than the name of a wild beast; but--bah!--bah! _louve_ I was born, _louve_ I shall die!" "Who knows? Who can say? Not to shrink from a life that is hard, but honest, will ensure success. So, then, work would not frighten you?" "Oh, certainly not! It is not a husband and four or five brats to take care of that would give me any trouble!" "But then it would not be all work; there are moments for rest. In the winter evenings, when the children were put to bed, and your husband smoked his pipe whilst he was cleaning his gun or caressing his dogs, you would have a little leisure." "Leisure,--sit with my arms crossed before me! _Ma foi!_ No, I would rather mend the linen, by the side of the fire in the evening. That is not a very hard job, and in winter the days are so short." As Fleur-de-Marie proceeded, La Louve forgot more and more of the present for the dreams of the future, as deeply interested as La Goualeuse had been before her, when Rodolph had talked to her of the rustic delights of the Bouqueval farm. La Louve did not attempt to conceal the wild tastes with which her lover had inspired her. Remembering the deep and wholesome impression which she had experienced from the smiling picture of Rodolph in relation to a country life, Fleur-de-Marie was desirous of trying the same means of action on La Louve, thinking, with reason, that, if her companion was so far affected at the sketch of a rude, poor, and solitary life, as to desire ardently such an existence, she merited interest and pity. Delighted to see her companion listen to her with attention, La Goualeuse continued, smiling: "And then you see, Madame Martial,--let me call you so,--what does it matter--"