labor, whose glance may piece the clouds of the sanctuary while her
thought, humble and charitable, keeps her ever on the level of man.

Wilfrid had flung himself into a chair between the two tables and was
contemplating with a species of intoxication this picture full of
harmony, to which the clouds of smoke did no despite. The single
window which lighted the parlor during the fine weather was now
carefully closed. An old tapestry, used for a curtain and fastened to
a stick, hung before it in heavy folds. Nothing in the room was
picturesque, nothing brilliant; everything denoted rigorous
simplicity, true heartiness, the ease of unconventional nature, and
the habits of a domestic life which knew neither cares nor troubles.
Many a dwelling is like a dream, the sparkle of passing pleasure seems
to hide some ruin beneath the cold smile of luxury; but this parlor,
sublime in reality, harmonious in tone, diffused the patriarchal ideas
of a full and self-contained existence. The silence was unbroken save
by the movements of the servant in the kitchen engaged in preparing
the supper, and by the sizzling of the dried fish which she was frying
in salt butter according to the custom of the country.

"Will you smoke a pipe?" said the pastor, seizing a moment when he
thought that Wilfrid might listen to him.

"Thank you, no, dear Monsieur Becker," replied the visitor.

"You seem to suffer more to-day than usual," said Minna, struck by the
feeble tones of the stranger's voice.

"I am always so when I leave the chateau."