Rigou contemplated for the hundredth time the well-known dining-room, floored in oak, with stuccoed ceiling and cornice, its high wainscot and handsome cupboards finely painted, its porcelain stone and magnificent tall clock,—­all the property of Mademoiselle Laguerre.  The chair-backs were in the form of lyres, painted white and highly varnished; the seats were of green morocco with gilt nails.  A massive mahogany table was covered with green oilcloth, with large squares of a deeper shade of green, and a plain border of the lighter.  The floor, laid in Hungarian point, was carefully waxed by Urbain and showed the care which ex-waiting-women know how to exact out of their servants.

“Bah! it cost too much,” thought Rigou for the hundredth time.  “I can eat as good a dinner in my room as here, and I have the income of the money this useless splendor would have wasted.  Where is Madame Soudry?” he asked, as the mayor returned armed with a venerable bottle.

“Asleep.”

“And you no longer disturb her slumbers?” said Rigou.

The ex-gendarme winked with a knowing air, and pointed to the ham which Jeannette, the pretty maid, was just bringing in.

“That will pick you up, a pretty bit like that,” he said.  “It was cured in the house; we cut into it only yesterday.”

“Where did you find her?” said the ex-Benedictine in Soudry’s ear.

“She is like the ham,” replied the ex-gendarme, winking again; “I have had her only a week.”

Jeannette, still in her night-cap, with a short petticoat and her bare feet in slippers, had slipped on a bodice made with straps over the arms in true peasant fashion, over which she had crossed a neckerchief which did not entirely hide her fresh and youthful attractions, which were at least as appetizing as the ham she carried.  Short and plump, with bare arms mottled red, ending in large, dimpled hands with short but well-made fingers, she was a picture of health.  The face was that of a true Burgundian,—­ruddy, but white about the temples, throat, and ears; the hair was chestnut; the corners of the eyes turned up towards the top of the ears; the nostrils were wide, the mouth sensual, and a little down lay along the cheeks; all this, together with a jaunty expression, tempered however by a deceitfully modest attitude, made her the model of a roguish servant-girl.

“On my honor, Jeannette is as good as the ham,” said Rigou.  “If I hadn’t an Annette I should want a Jeannette.”

“One is as good as the other,” said the ex-gendarme, “for your Annette is fair and delicate.  How is Madame Rigou,—­is she asleep?” added Soudry, roughly, to let Rigou see he understood his joke.

“She wakes with the cock, but she goes to roost with the hens,” replied Rigou.  “As for me, I sit up and read the ‘Constitutionnel.’  My wife lets me sleep at night and in the morning too; she wouldn’t come into my room for all the world.”