He looked on the rustic drawing-room table at the books lying about, and at the music on the piano. This examination satisfied him. Through the open windows, between the branches of the fruit trees which gravely bore their weight, he could see the huge bulk of Les Quatre Seigneurs, and farther to the right, the entrance to the Valley of Isère and the shadowy lines of the Chartreuse mountains. The horizon was bathed in that bluish mist, which comes at the beginning of autumn, to lessen the brilliant display of the summer. His heart was again reveling in the familiarity of these things, when the servant, who had left him to see to her kitchen stove, came back into the room, her forehead clouded. She began to fuss about him, as she scratched her head. Absorbed in thought, he did not see her. At last she opened her old mouth and said:
"Monsieur Albert?"
"What is it?"
"Will Monsieur lunch here? Because I have nothing but rice and boiled beef with carrots."
He laughed at this uneasiness.
"Well, that is sufficient."
Reassured, she went back to her kitchen. After all, Monsieur had never been difficult to feed, and he was always delighted with very ordinary dishes. At the same time Albert was saying to himself, "I am not invited, and Fanchette's menu makes me hungry." The peace of the surrounding country put him into a good humor. The wait growing monotonous, he left the house and went around his estate. His farmers, good folks, but somewhat indolent, welcomed him with emotion, and invited him to have a glass of wine.
"The farm has been widowed," they assured him.
And indeed it did not take long for him to discover the neighbors' encroachments. One was planting pear trees less than two meters from the dividing line, another was turning off the water from a spring for his own use.
"Ah, they are taking advantage of my absence!"