“Can she be away?” said the doctor, when he did not see La Fosseuse on the threshold.  They went into the house, but there was no one in the sitting room on the ground floor.

“She must have heard the sound of a second horse,” said Benassis, with a smile, “and has gone upstairs to put on her cap, or her sash, or some piece of finery.”

He left Genestas alone, and went upstairs in search of La Fosseuse.  The commandant made a survey of the room.  He noticed the pattern of the paper that covered the walls—­roses scattered over a gray background, and the straw matting that did duty for a carpet on the floor.  The armchair, the table, and the smaller chairs were made of wood from which the bark had not been removed.  The room was not without ornament; some flower-stands, as they might be called, made of osiers and wooden hoops, had been filled with moss and flowers, and the windows were draped by white dimity curtains bordered with a scarlet fringe.  There was a mirror above the chimney-piece, where a plain china jar stood between two candlesticks.  Some calico lay on the table; shirts, apparently, had been cut out and begun, several pairs of gussets were finished, and a work-basket, scissors, needles and thread, and all a needle-woman’s requirements lay beside them.  Everything was as fresh and clean as a shell that the sea had tossed up on the beach.  Genestas saw that a kitchen lay on the other side of the passage, and that the staircase was at the further end of it.  The upper story, like the ground floor, evidently consisted of two rooms only.  “Come, do not be frightened,” Benassis was saying to La Fosseuse; “come down-stairs!”

Genestas promptly retreated into the sitting-room when he heard these words, and in another moment a slender girl, well and gracefully made, appeared in the doorway.  She wore a gown of cambric, covered with narrow pink stripes, and cut low at the throat, so as to display a muslin chemisette.  Shyness and timidity had brought the color to a face which had nothing very remarkable about it save a certain flatness of feature which called to mind the Cossack and Russian countenances that since the disasters of 1814 have unfortunately come to be so widely known in France.  La Fosseuse was, in fact, very like these men of the North.  Her nose turned up at the end, and was sunk in her face, her mouth was wide and her chin small, her hands and arms were red and, like her feet, were of the peasant type, large and strong.  Although she had been used to an outdoor life, to exposure to the sun and the scorching summer winds, her complexion had the bleached look of withered grass; but after the first glance this made her face more interesting, and there was such a sweet expression in her blue eyes, so much grace about her movements, and such music in her voice, that little as her features seemed to harmonize with the disposition which Benassis had praised to the commandant, the officer recognized in her the capricious and ailing creature, condemned to suffering by a nature that had been thwarted in its growth.