gossips who observed her contemplating the masonry. From that date,
whenever Macquart reappeared, it was thought, as no one then ever
saw the young woman, that she was living with him in the hovel of the
Impasse Saint-Mittre.

The smuggler would come very irregularly, almost always unexpectedly,
to Plassans. Nobody ever knew what life the lovers led during the two
or three days he spent there at distant intervals. They used to shut
themselves up; the little dwelling seemed uninhabited. Then, as the
gossips had declared that Macquart had simply seduced Adelaide in order
to spend her money, they were astonished, after a time, to see him still
lead his wonted life, ever up hill and down dale and as badly equipped
as previously. Perhaps the young woman loved him all the more for
seeing him at rare intervals, perhaps he had disregarded her entreaties,
feeling an irresistible desire for a life of adventure. The gossips
invented a thousand fables, without succeeding in giving any reasonable
explanation of a connection which had originated and continued in so
strange a manner. The hovel in the Impasse Saint-Mittre remained closed
and preserved its secrets. It was merely guessed that Macquart had
probably acquired the habit of beating Adelaide, although the sound of
a quarrel never issued from the house. However, on several occasions she
was seen with her face black and blue, and her hair torn away. At the
same time, she did not display the least dejection or grief, nor did she
seek in any way to hide her bruises. She smiled, and seemed happy. No
doubt she allowed herself to be beaten without breathing a word. This
existence lasted for more than fifteen years.

At times when Adelaide returned home she would find her house upside
down, but would not take the least notice of it. She was utterly
ignorant of the practical meaning of life, of the proper value of things