hand me a rush-bottomed stool. "Would you
like some bread with your milk? You seem
fatigued."

I thankfully accepted.

"Prudence," he said, raising his voice, "give
some milk to monsieur."

The door of an inner room opened, and
Prudence came forth, bearing a tin candlestick with
a flaring tallow candle in it. The man was a
common peasant, tanned, red-cheeked, coarse,
and good-humoured looking. I saw dozens such
daily; but his wife was wholly unlike him,
unlike any woman I had ever seen. She was middle-sized,
but so slender that she looked tall. She
wore a close black jacket and dark petticoat,
that left her feet and ankles bare. They were
small and well made, so were her hands. Her
neck, too, was long and slender, without being
thin; her head was remarkably small, but flat
and not well shaped. Her face was narrow and
very sallow, with thin mobile features, and the
strangest little glittering brown eyes. She had
black hair, and wore no cap, and though by no
means ugly, she was, to me at least, a very
repelling-looking person.

"Milk," she answered; "certainly."

She put down her light, fetched a tin can from
a shelf, and filling a coarse crockery cup with
rich-looking milk, she handed it to me. Her
motions were graceful, and her smile and look
meant to be courteous; but I had something to
do, not to betray my instinctive horror of this
woman. I thanked her as graciously as I could,
and praised her cow. She smiled (her smile
only made matters worse), and said:

"I have no cow—we are too poor for that."

"I walk a league every day for that milk,"
put in the husband, who was still stirring the
contents of the iron pot on the fire. "Give the loaf
to monsieur, Prudence."

She obeyed, and I remarked:

"You are fond of milk?"

"We never drink any," she replied, smiling
again; "we are too poor."

I did not think it civil to ask what Madame
Prudence did with the contents of the tin can
—a large one—since she could not afford to drink
milk; so I ate and drank in silence.

I hoped to leave the cottage as soon as I had
done, and reach the inn which the man had
mentioned; but it was not to be. A sudden
flash of light filled the room, then a loud thunder-peal
followed, and after it came a fierce rush of
rain. The man crossed himself, and Prudence
coolly went and shut the door behind me. It
was a terrible storm, a fierce and a long one. The
thunder rolled and rolled, and the rain poured
and poured, and Prudence and her husband sat
down to their plateful of soup each, and went
through it with perfect equanimity, whilst I
walked up and down the room in silent vexation.
I do not know, indeed, why I was so vexed at
this trifling delay; I half fancy it was because of
the little restless eyes of Prudence. I tried
to avoid them, but could not. Wherever I went,
they seemed to follow me; and as she sat with
her back to the wall, it was impossible to shun
them by getting behind her.

The storm did not cease, or even grow less,
and Prudence said, very civilly:

"Perhaps monsieur would like to spend the
night here? I can go and sleep with a neighbour,
and make up a bed for my husband in this
room. Our bed is a good one."

"Thank you," I replied, hurriedly; "I must
go on."

"Monsieur can scarcely go on to-night,"
replied Prudence, with her smile; "there is no inn
within a league; the way to it is across the country,
and the men about here are too great
poltroons to show monsieur the way in such a
storm as this."

The latter remark was uttered with a quick
scornful glance at her husband, who sullenly
muttered something about not being afraid, but
did not volunteer to be my guide.

I had no alternative. It was getting late. I had
no right to intrude any longer on these people
unless I accepted their offer, and, in spite of the
eyes of Prudence, I did accept it. She rose and
went into the inner room to prepare it for me.
It was a relief to think that I should soon be out
of her sight. In the mean while I tried to get
some desultory information from her husband,
but his plateful of soup had made him sleepy,
and, as nature had also made him stupid, I soon
gave him up. Before long, Prudence came out,
and, with her smile, informed monsieur that
everything was ready. Monsieur took the
candlestick from her hand, and, muttering ungracious
thanks, entered his apartment.

My first care was to fasten the door, but, as
there was no lock to it, I had to barricade it.
Two chairs and a table did the thing. I protest
that I apprehended no personal danger; I only
feared that Prudence would come in and look at
me. It was not likely she would do so; she
was not to sleep in the cottage; besides, the
temptation of seeing me in my slumbers, with a
handkerchief tied round my head, might not be
irresistible; but fear and reason have nothing in
common, and fear, being strong, prevailed and
had her way. My room, though small, was clean,
and the bed justified Prudence's eulogium. It
was a very good bed indeed. I was tired, and
I was young. In five minutes I was fast asleep.

Heaven save my worst enemy from such
slumbers, or rather from such dreams, as I had! The
whole night long, Prudence and I were striving
for mastery, and every time we engaged in combat
she prevailed against me. We never came
to blows, but it was a fell and cruel struggle for
all that. When I tried to strike her, she
laughed, and my hand fell back powerless; then
with her supple and nervous arms, strong as
steel, she would embrace me, and tighten her
hold, and look at me with a smile, until I shrieked
with terror, and asked for mercy—which I never
got. I do not know how the fight ended, but it
began again and again, without a particle of
variety. I believe this dreadful monotony wearied
me as much as the struggle itself. I know that