She remembered a piece of advice which the solicitor had given her:
“If you wish to lead a quiet life, not a word about the past before we have shed a full light upon it.”
Yes, but how much easier it would be to veil the past under that name of “madame”! And how much better that title would protect her! As a girl, living alone, she must needs be the object of curiosity, the victim of any amount of gossip. As a married woman, she would be in a normal position; her solitary existence would cause no surprise; she could keep off intruders, go about as she pleased, or stay indoors and weep, with none to spy upon the secret of her tears.
“In what name shall I make out the agreement?” asked Mme. de la Vaudraye, when everything was settled: settled to the great advantage of the owner, who had increased her rent by one-half.
“Why, in my own name: Mme. Armand!” said Gilberte, without foreseeing the consequences which this decision involved.
Mme. de la Vaudraye hesitated:
“But ... perhaps we shall want ... M. Armand’s signature.” ...
“I am a widow.”
“Oh, I beg your pardon! I ought to have known. I see you are in mourning.” ...
Mme. Armand moved into the Logis that same evening. At Mme. de la Vaudraye’s express recommendation, she engaged as a servant the wife of the keeper of the ruins, Adèle, a big, fat, talkative woman, with hair on her upper lip, a stealthy eye and quick, blunt manners. Bouquetot, her husband, was to sleep at the manor-house; and their son, Antoine, who had just left his regiment, would do the heavy work and attend to the garden.