Madame Castener wiped her mouth with a corner of her apron.
She was a heavy woman—all bulges and protuberances—a big cow, but kind. A widow, she lived alone. Her married son, Etienne, had the cottage next door.
“There is something to eat.”
Manon took off her cloak and hat.
“Who told you that I was staying at Beaucourt?” she asked.
Veuve Castener never hurried herself. She sat down again at the round table, put a bit of bread in her mouth, munched it, and then replied:
“A man, ma chérie.”
Manon laughed, and fetched herself a plate and knife and fork from the dresser.
“And they say men do not gossip!”
“It was that fellow who used to keep the hotel at Beaucourt.”