“Wait a moment,” resumed Mathieu; “I will let the light in.”

He thereupon drew back one of the curtains, and a broad ray of yellow, wintry sunshine illumined the dim room.  “Ah! there’s the sun!  And it’s splendid weather—­and Sunday too!  I shall be able to take you out for a little while with the children this afternoon.”

Then Marianne called him to her, and, when he had seated himself on the bed, took hold of his hand and said gayly:  “Well, I hadn’t been sleeping either for the last twenty minutes; and I didn’t move because I wanted you to lie in bed a little late, as it’s Sunday.  How amusing to think that we were afraid of waking one another when we both had our eyes wide open!”

“Oh!” said he, “I was so happy to think you were sleeping.  My one delight on Sundays now is to remain in this room all the morning, and spend the whole day with you and the children.”  Then he uttered a cry of surprise and remorse:  “Why!  I haven’t kissed you yet.”

She had raised herself on her pillows, and he gave her an eager clasp.  In the stream of bright sunshine which gilded the bed she herself looked radiant with health and strength and hope.  Never had her heavy brown tresses flowed down more abundantly, never had her big eyes smiled with gayer courage.  And sturdy and healthful as she was, with her face all kindliness and love, she looked like the very personification of Fruitfulness, the good goddess with dazzling skin and perfect flesh, of sovereign dignity.

They remained for a moment clasped together in the golden sunshine which enveloped them with radiance.  Then Mathieu pulled up Marianne’s pillows, set the counterpane in order, and forbade her to stir until he had tidied the room.  Forthwith he stripped his little bedstead, folded up the sheets, the mattress, and the bedstead itself, over which he slipped a cover.  She vainly begged him not to trouble, saying that Zoe, the servant whom they had brought from the country, could very well do all those things.  But he persisted, replying that the servant plagued him, and that he preferred to be alone to attend her and do all that there was to do.  Then, as he suddenly began to shiver, he remarked that the room was cold, and blamed himself for not having already lighted the fire.  Some logs and some small wood were piled in a corner, near the chimney-piece.

“How stupid of me!” he exclaimed; “here am I leaving you to freeze.”

Then he knelt down before the fireplace, while she protested:  “What an idea!  Leave all that, and call Zoe.”

“No, no, she doesn’t know how to light the fire properly, and besides, it amuses me.”

He laughed triumphantly when a bright clear fire began to crackle, filling the room with additional cheerfulness.  The place was now a little paradise, said he; but he had scarcely finished washing and dressing when the partition behind the bed was shaken by a vigorous thumping.