"Three at least. I wouldn't swear that it wasn't four."
"And to-night I have the same, with the mushrooms. Why do I make it this morning? It is not the right day. Le bon Dieu, maybe?"
She waddled off and Jean took a table close to the fire.
It was impossible that they were doing this for the last time. The fire burned with a deep glow. Outside the bare trees, ladened with snow, creaked in the wind that came creeping with the dark from hidden places. In the kitchen Madam Cateau scolded the waiter. Dishes rattled and finally the perspiring Gustave came running with the soup. It was rich and thick, and across the table, so near that she could see a tiny black speck on Gregory's white collar, he was eating it, smiling at her between spoonfuls, his face damp with the soup's heat and the reaction from the long walk in the cold.
When dinner was almost through, Madam plodded in again.
"The same room? Yes? Perhaps a smaller one is warmer."
"No. The same. Make a good fire. It will be all right."
They drank the coffee in silence and smoked, listening to the woman's feet plopping on the floor above. It was quiet in the kitchen now. A loosened shutter creaked and ashes fell softly in the grate. Upstairs the door closed. Madam came thumping down and they heard her settle with a grunt into her chair by the parlor stove.
They went upstairs. The room was just the same. They might have been away only an hour. The same colored print of Napoleon stared above the dresser; the same stiff, white tidies covered the chair seats. The same red and white counterpane spread over the bed, with its nosegay of red and white embroidered roses in the exact center. The curtains were drawn half down, but below, through the spotless panes, the field stretched bare and silent under a clean young moon. Gregory went over and pulled down the shades.
Jean took the plush rocker that Gregory dragged to the hearth. He sat on the floor, his head against her knees, and together they listened to the breathing of the fire, the whispering wind, and the branch scraping on the glass. Gregory drew Jean's hands down and held them against his lips.