not satisfied (that they never were), but calm, after glancing about her with the look of an owner,—­that wonderful glance which sees what escapes even the most vigilant eyes of others.  Pierrette’s skin was moist with her labor when she returned to the kitchen to put it in order, and light the stove that she might carry up hot water to her two cousins (a luxury she never had for herself) and the means of lighting fires in their rooms.  After this she laid the table for breakfast and lit the stove in the dining-room.  For all these various fires she had to fetch wood and kindling from the cellar, leaving the warm rooms for a damp and chilly atmosphere.  Such sudden transitions, made with the quickness of youth, often to escape a harsh word or obey an order, aggravated the condition of her health.  She did not know she was ill, and yet she suffered.  She began to have strange cravings; she liked raw vegetables and salads, and ate them secretly.  The innocent child was quite unaware that her condition was that of serious illness which needed the utmost care.  If Neraud, the Rogrons’ doctor, had told this to Pierrette before Brigaut’s arrival she would only have smiled; life was so bitter she could smile at death.  But now her feelings changed; the child, to whose physical sufferings was added the anguish of Breton homesickness (a moral malady so well-known that colonels in the army allow for it among their men), was suddenly content to be in Provins.  The sight of that yellow flower, the song, the presence of her friend, revived her as a plant long without water revives under rain.  Unconsciously she wanted to live, and even thought she did not suffer.

Pierrette slipped timidly into her cousin’s bedroom, made the fire, left the hot water, said a few words, and went to wake Rogron and do the same offices for him.  Then she went down to take in the milk, the bread, and the other provisions left by the dealers.  She stood some time on the sill of the door hoping that Brigaut would have the sense to come to her; but by that time he was already on his way to Paris.

She had finished the arrangement of the dining-room and was busy in the kitchen when she heard her cousin Sylvie coming down.  Mademoiselle Rogron appeared in a brown silk dressing-gown and a cap with bows; her false front was awry, her night-gown showed above the silk wrapper, her slippers were down at heel.  She gave an eye to everything and then came straight to Pierrette, who was awaiting her orders to know what to prepare for breakfast.

“Ha! here you are, lovesick young lady!” said Sylvie, in a mocking tone.

“What is it, cousin?”

“You came into my room like a sly cat, and you crept out the same way, though you knew very well I had something to say to you.”

“To me?”

“You had a serenade this morning, as if you were a princess.”

“A serenade!” exclaimed Pierrette.

“A serenade!” said Sylvie, mimicking her; “and you’ve a lover, too.”