"Come near the fire, monsieur," she said, lisping with a sort of affectation, "and give me your cap and cloak, so that I can have them dried in the kitchen. That's a fine cloak for the rain; I don't know what they call this material, but I've seen it in Paris. It would be a good thing to see such a cloak on Monsieur le Comte's shoulders! But it must cost a lot, and besides, he hasn't said that he would wear it. He thinks he's still twenty-five years old, and he declares that the water from the sky never yet gave an honest man a cold; however, he began to have a touch of sciatica last winter. But a man isn't afraid of those things at your age. Never mind, warm your bones all the same; here, turn your chair like this and you'll be more comfortable. You're from Paris, I am sure; I can tell by your complexion, which is too fresh for our country; a fine country, monsieur, but very hot in summer and very cold in winter. You will say that it's as cold to-night as a night in November; that's true enough, but what can you expect? it's on account of the storm. But this little room is very comfortable, very easy to heat; in a moment you'll see if I'm not right. We are lucky to have plenty of dead wood. There are so many old trees about here, and we can keep the oven going all winter just with the brambles that grow in the courtyard. To be sure, we don't do much cooking. Monsieur le Comte is a small eater and his daughter's like him; the little servant is the heartiest eater in the house; why, he has to have three pounds of bread a day; but I bake for him separate, and I don't spare the rye. That's good enough for him, and with a little bran it goes farther and isn't bad for the health. Ha! ha! that makes you laugh, does it? and me too. You see, I have always liked to laugh and talk; the work goes off just as fast, for I like to be quick in everything. Monsieur Antoine is like me; when he has once spoken, off you must go like the wind. So we have always agreed on that point. You'll excuse us, monsieur, if we keep you waiting a little while. Monsieur has gone down the cellar with the man who brought you here, and the stairs are so broken down that they can't go very fast; but it's a fine cellar, monsieur; the walls are more than ten feet thick, and it's so far underground that when you're down there you feel as if you were buried alive. Really! it's a funny feeling. They say that there was a time when they used to put prisoners of war there; now, we don't put anybody there and our wine keeps very well. What delays us is that our child has already gone to bed; she had a sick headache to-day because she went out in the sun without a hat. She says that she means to get used to it, and that she can get along without hat or umbrella just as well as I can; but she's mistaken; she's been brought up like a young lady, as she should have been, poor child! for when I say _our_ child, I don't mean that I am Mademoiselle Gilberte's