"What's the name of the village?"
"The name? I haven't an idea; what difference does it make? any name will do. That man doesn't know all the suburbs of Rouen. Call it Belair—there are Belairs in every province."
"All right; and I'm a Norman, too, I suppose?"
"Of course."
"And may I still raise calves?"
"Why not? cattle are raised everywhere. Hush! I hear my neighbor coming upstairs."
Monsieur de Mardeille had crossed the courtyard like a rocket; he ran up the stairs without stopping for breath, entered Georgette's room like a shot out of a catapult, and, without even acknowledging the salutation of Colinet, who rose as he entered, he took his stand in front of the young woman and exclaimed in a hoarse voice:
"It is I, mademoiselle!"
"So I see, monsieur," replied Georgette, with a smile.
"You didn't expect me—that is to say, not at this moment, I fancy."