They went in. Hubert shut the door, while Hubertine, bearing her burden,
passed through the front room, which served as a parlour, and where
some embroidered bands were spread out for show before the great
square window. Then she went into the kitchen, the old servants' hall,
preserved almost intact, with its heavy beams, its flagstone floor
mended in a dozen places, and its great fireplace with its stone
mantelpiece. On shelves were the utensils, the pots, kettles, and
saucepans, that dated back one or two centuries; and the dishes were
of old stone, or earthenware, and of pewter. But on the middle of the
hearth was a modern cooking-stove, a large cast-iron one, whose copper
trimmings were wondrously bright. It was red from heat, and the
water was bubbling away in its boiler. A large porringer, filled with
coffee-and-milk, was on one corner of it.

"Oh! how much more comfortable it is here than outside," said Hubert, as
he put the bread down on a heavy table of the style of Louis XIII, which
was in the centre of the room. "Now, seat this poor little creature near
the stove that she may be thawed out!"

Hubertine had already placed the child close to the fire, and they both
looked at her as she slowly regained consciousness. As the snow that
covered her clothes melted it fell in heavy drops. Through the holes of
her great shoes they could see her little bruised feet, whilst the thin
woollen dress designed the rigidity of her limbs and her poor body, worn
by misery and pain. She had a long attack of nervous trembling, and then
opened her frightened eyes with the start of an animal which suddenly
awakes from sleep to find itself caught in a snare. Her face seemed to
sink away under the silken rag which was tied under her chin. Her
right arm appeared to be helpless, for she pressed it so closely to her