Genestas seated himself in a corner by the fireless hearth.  A sublime symbol met his eyes on the high mantel-shelf above him—­a colored plaster cast of the Virgin with the Child Jesus in her arms.  Bare earth made the flooring of the cottage.  It had been beaten level in the first instance, but in course of time it had grown rough and uneven, so that though it was clean, its ruggedness was not unlike that of the magnified rind of an orange.  A sabot filled with salt, a frying-pan, and a large kettle hung inside the chimney.  The farther end of the room was completely filled by a four-post bedstead, with a scalloped valance for decoration.  The walls were black; there was an opening to admit the light above the worm-eaten door; and here and there were a few stools consisting of rough blocks of beech-wood, each set upon three wooden legs; a hutch for bread, a large wooden dipper, a bucket and some earthen milk-pans, a spinning-wheel on the top of the bread-hutch, and a few wicker mats for draining cheeses.  Such were the ornaments and household furniture of the wretched dwelling.

The officer, who had been absorbed in flicking his riding-whip against the floor, presently became a witness to a piece of by-play, all unsuspicious though he was that any drama was about to unfold itself.  No sooner had the old woman, followed by her scald-headed Benjamin, disappeared through a door that led into her dairy, than the four children, after having stared at the soldier as long as they wished, drove away the pig by way of a beginning.  This animal, their accustomed playmate, having come as far as the threshold, the little brats made such an energetic attack upon him, that he was forced to beat a hasty retreat.  When the enemy had been driven without, the children besieged the latch of a door that gave way before their united efforts, and slipped out of the worn staple that held it; and finally they bolted into a kind of fruit-loft, where they very soon fell to munching the dried plums, to the amusement of the commandant, who watched this spectacle.  The old woman, with the face like parchment and the dirty ragged clothing, came back at this moment, with a jug of milk for her visitor in her hand.

“Oh! you good-for-nothings!” cried she.

She ran to the children, clutched an arm of each child, bundled them into the room, and carefully closed the door of her storeroom of plenty.  But she did not take their prunes away from them.

“Now, then, be good, my pets!  If one did not look after them,” she went on, looking at Genestas, “they would eat up the whole lot of prunes, the madcaps!”

Then she seated herself on a three-legged stool, drew the little weakling between her knees, and began to comb and wash his head with a woman’s skill and with motherly assiduity.  The four small thieves hung about.  Some of them stood, others leant against the bed or the bread-hutch.  They gnawed their prunes without saying a word, but they kept their sly and mischievous eyes fixed upon the stranger.  In spite of grimy countenances and noses that stood in need of wiping, they all looked strong and healthy.