Paule, who clung to this little place with every fibre of her being, loved the fairy-like winter effects. The cold made her shiver. As she crossed the threshold, a raven flew croaking across the horizon. Its wings made a black spot against the pale sky.
“Bird of misfortune!” murmured the girl carelessly, without reading any ill omen in it. Was it not the time for ravens? They hover over the bare fields, near the houses, trying to find a scanty sustenance.
She put two logs in the drawing-room grate, built up the fire carefully, and placed a kettle on the logs. Then she went to find a glass, a spoon, the sugar and the bottle of rum, which she arrayed on a little table near the fireplace. “Mother will be cold when she gets back,” she thought during these preparations. “It is freezing to-night and she will be dreadfully cold in that open cart of Trélaz’s. A good fire and a hot drink will do her good. Poor Mother!”
She sat down beside the lamp and tried to read a book she had begun. But this occupation could not hold her attention. She looked at the clock. It was past six.
Uneasily she took up the shawl which she had left on a chair, and went back to the veranda. Night had fallen. The stars were trembling in the sky, as if they were cold. Although the moon was still invisible, the horizon was not dark. It seemed as if a faint light was rising from below, as if the white earth illumined the sky. Down in the depths of the valley Paule saw the lamps of Chambéry shining. She looked searchingly at the wood with its bare oak-trees, through which the carriage must come, she watched for the light of the moving lamps, and listened for the slightest sounds that the breeze carried to her. For a moment the clatter of a mill deceived her. A shrill scream which broke the silence made her shudder,—it was so like a cry of despair. When she had recovered from her fright, she recognised the siren of a neighboring factory. For a long time she remained leaning on the balustrade, listening and receptive of every impression.
Marie, the old servant who had lived with the family through good and bad fortune, came to look for her and scolded her.
“Now isn’t it madness to stay outside in this cold? Will you come in, Miss Paule? You won’t bring Madame home any quicker by taking cold yourself!”
Paule obeyed, making no reply. But she went no further than the kitchen, so that she might be ready to run out at once. Hearing the gate open, she rushed out and found herself face to face with a peasant from Vimines, who on account of his poverty was ironically nicknamed Baron.
“Oh!” she exclaimed in her disappointment, as the poor creature walked unceremoniously into the kitchen.
“Good evening, everybody! I’ve just looked in as I passed, to get warm.”