He had been for two hours absorbed in such reflections when Manon, the
only servant of the house, knocked at his door to tell him that the
second breakfast was served and the family were waiting for him.
Twelve o'clock was striking. The new lodger went down at once, stirred
by a wish to see and judge the five persons among whom his life was in
future to be spent.

When he entered the room he found all the inmates of the house
standing; they were dressed precisely as they were on the day when he
came to make his first inquiries.

"Did you sleep well?" asked Madame de la Chanterie.

"So well that I did not wake up till ten o'clock," replied Godefroid,
bowing to the four men, who returned the bow with gravity.

"We thought so," said an old man named Alain, smiling.

"Manon spoke of a second breakfast," said Godefroid; "but I fear that
I have already broken some rule. At what hour do you rise?"

"Not quite so early as the old monks," said Madame de la Chanterie,
courteously, "but as early as the working-men,--six in winter,
half-past three in summer. Our bed-time is ruled by that of the sun.
We are always asleep by nine in winter and eleven in summer. On rising,
we all take a little milk, which comes from our farm, after saying our
prayers, except the Abbe de Veze, who says the first mass, at six
o'clock in summer and seven o'clock in winter, at Notre-Dame, where
these gentlemen are present daily, as well as your humble servant."