She was haunted by a horrible
nightmare. She seemed to be lying on a bed of banknotes, whilst
the Cochin-China, sitting heavily on her chest, reproached her
bitterly for having handed her over to a stranger in exchange for
a little filthy lucre. Mother Etienne, bathed in perspiration,
seemed to suffocate under her sheets.
At last dawn came, the good woman rose, her heart still terribly
oppressed. Germaine calmed her as best she could with reassuring
words and also with a foaming bowl of hot coffee.
All morning Mother Etienne endured torments.
It was three o'clock in the afternoon when suddenly the sound of a
heavy carriage drawn by four horses was heard in the courtyard.
Labric barked with all his might, Coco whinnied loudly, the three
cows all mooed at the same time, and the entire poultry-yard in an
uproar added its piercing and varied tones to the general tumult.
The pigs especially made a great noise.
It was the American's four-in-hand.
He was driving himself, and on his left sat a young and pretty
woman, exquisitely dressed in white.
The newcomers were at once shown into the huge kitchen, which
served also as a reception room. On the hearth burned a small
bundle of scented herbs which filled the whole room with
fragrance. Yollande was sitting in her usual place.
"Well, Madame, have you at last decided to let me have the
curly-haired hen?"
Mother Etienne neither moved nor answered.
"See here, Madame, I offer you $4,000, $6,000, $8,000," and so
saying he took from a red morocco pocketbook in banknotes the sums
he mentioned, and spread them out on the table before the
astonished eyes of Mother Etienne and Germaine.
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