She had been occupied thus for about a quarter of an hour when Marechal
reappeared. Behind him came a stout thickset man of heavy build, and
gorgeously dressed. His face, surrounded by a bristly dark brown beard,
and his eyes overhung by bushy eyebrows, gave him, at the first glance, a
harsh appearance. But his mouth promptly banished this impression. His
thick and sensual lips betrayed voluptuous tastes. A disciple of Lavater
or Gall would have found the bump of amativeness largely developed.

Marechal stepped aside to allow him to pass.

"Good-morning, mistress," said he familiarly, approaching Madame
Desvarennes.

The mistress raised her head quickly, and said:

"Ah! it's you, Cayrol! That's capital! I was just going to send for
you."

Jean Cayrol, a native of Cantal, had been brought up amid the wild
mountains of Auvergne. His father was a small farmer in the neighborhood
of Saint-Flour, scraping a miserable pittance from the ground for the
maintenance of his family. From the age of eight years Cayrol had been a
shepherd-boy. Alone in the quiet and remote country, the child had given
way to ambitious dreams. He was very intelligent, and felt that he was
born to another sphere than that of farming.

Thus, at the first opportunity which had occurred to take him into a
town, he was found ready. He went as servant to a banker at Brioude.
There, in the service of this comparatively luxurious house, he got