Mother Etienne, feverishly affectionate, looked at the hen lying
as usual asleep in the chimney corner. She could not make up her
mind to sell her sweet Cinderella. Her affection for Yollande had
increased with the constant care she had needed during so many
long months. Besides, the silky tresses curling like corkscrews,
which Germaine had kept so smooth, had been a source of amusement,
not only to the farm but to the whole neighbourhood.

That night Mother Etienne was much agitated in spite of the hot
drink Germaine had given her. 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.