Every Monday morning, the dealer in second-hand goods, who lived under the alley-way, spread out his wares on the sidewalk.  Then the city would be filled with a buzzing of voices in which the neighing of horses, the bleating of lambs, the grunting of pigs, could be distinguished, mingled with the sharp sound of wheels on the cobble-stones.  About twelve o’clock, when the market was in full swing, there appeared at the front door a tall, middle-aged peasant, with a hooked nose and a cap on the back of his head; it was Robelin, the farmer of Geffosses.  Shortly afterwards came Liebard, the farmer of Toucques, short, rotund and ruddy, wearing a grey jacket and spurred boots.

Both men brought their landlady either chickens or cheese.  Felicite would invariably thwart their ruses and they held her in great respect.

At various times, Madame Aubain received a visit from the Marquis de Gremanville, one of her uncles, who was ruined and lived at Falaise on the remainder of his estates.  He always came at dinner-time and brought an ugly poodle with him, whose paws soiled their furniture.  In spite of his efforts to appear a man of breeding (he even went so far as to raise his hat every time he said “My deceased father"), his habits got the better of him, and he would fill his glass a little too often and relate broad stories.  Felicite would show him out very politely and say:  “You have had enough for this time, Monsieur de Gremanville!  Hoping to see you again!” and would close the door.

She opened it gladly for Monsieur Bourais, a retired lawyer.  His bald head and white cravat, the ruffling of his shirt, his flowing brown coat, the manner in which he took snuff, his whole person, in fact, produced in her the kind of awe which we feel when we see extraordinary persons.  As he managed Madame’s estates, he spent hours with her in Monsieur’s study; he was in constant fear of being compromised, had a great regard for the magistracy and some pretensions to learning.

In order to facilitate the children’s studies, he presented them with an engraved geography which represented various scenes of the world; cannibals with feather head-dresses, a gorilla kidnapping a young girl, Arabs in the desert, a whale being harpooned, etc.

Paul explained the pictures to Felicite.  And, in fact, this was her only literary education.

The children’s studies were under the direction of a poor devil employed at the town-hall, who sharpened his pocket-knife on his boots and was famous for his penmanship.

When the weather was fine, they went to Geffosses.  The house was built in the centre of the sloping yard; and the sea looked like a grey spot in the distance.  Felicite would take slices of cold meat from the lunch basket and they would sit down and eat in a room next to the dairy.  This room was all that remained of a cottage that had been torn down.  The dilapidated wall-paper trembled in the drafts.  Madame Aubain, overwhelmed by recollections, would hang her head, while the children were afraid to open their mouths.  Then, “Why don’t you go and play?” their mother would say; and they would scamper off.