While she went about her task, arranging the plates, the water-bottle,
and glasses symmetrically around the table, Julien tried to engage her in
conversation. But the little maiden, either because she had been
cautioned beforehand, or because she did not very well comprehend M. de
Buxieres's somewhat literary style of French, would answer only in
monosyllables, or else speak only in patois, so that Julien had to give
up the idea of getting any information out of her. Certainly,
Mademoiselle Vincart was right in saying that he did not know the
language of these people.

He ate without appetite the breakfast on which Manette had employed all
her culinary art, barely tasted the roast partridge, and to Zelie's great
astonishment, mingled the old Burgundy wine with a large quantity of
water.

"You will inform Madame Sejournant," said he to the girl, as he folded
his napkin, "that I am not a great eater, and that one dish will suffice
me in future."

He left her to clear away, and went out to look at the domain which he
was to call his own. It did not take him very long. The twenty or
thirty white houses, which constituted the village and lay sleeping in
the wooded hollow like eggs in a nest, formed a curious circular line
around the chateau. In a few minutes he had gone the whole length of it,
and the few people he met gave him only a passing glance, in which
curiosity seemed to have more share than any hospitable feeling.
He entered the narrow church under the patronage of Our Lady; the gray
light which entered through the moldy shutters showed a few scattered
benches of oak, and the painted wooden altar. He knelt down and