It was a bull which was hidden from them by the fog. He advanced
towards the two women, and Madame Aubain prepared to flee for her

life. "No, no! not so fast," warned Felicite. Still they hurried on,
for they could hear the noisy breathing of the bull behind them. His

hoofs pounded the grass like hammers, and presently he began to
gallop! Felicite turned around and threw patches of grass in his eyes.

He hung his head, shook his horns and bellowed with fury. Madame
Aubain and the children, huddled at the end of the field, were trying

to jump over the ditch. Felicite continued to back before the bull,
blinding him with dirt, while she shouted to them to make haste.

Madame Aubain finally slid into the ditch, after shoving first
Virginia and then Paul into it, and though she stumbled several times

she managed, by dint of courage, to climb the other side of it.
The bull had driven Felicite up against a fence; the foam from his

muzzle flew in her face and in another minute he would have
disembowelled her. She had just time to slip between two bars and the

huge animal, thwarted, paused.
For years, this occurrence was a topic of conversation in Pont-

l'Eveque. But Felicite took no credit to herself, and probably never
knew that she had been heroic.

Virginia occupied her thoughts solely, for the shock she had sustained
gave her a nervousaffection, and the physician, M. Poupart,

prescribed the salt-water bathing at Trouville. In those days,
Trouville was not greatly patronised. Madame Aubain gathered

information, consulted Bourais, and made preparations as if they were
going on an extended trip.

The baggage was sent the day before on Liebard's cart. On the
following morning, he brought around two horses, one of which had a

woman's saddle with a velveteen back to it, while on the crupper of
the other was a rolled shawl that was to be used for a seat. Madame

Aubain mounted the second horse, behind Liebard. Felicite took charge
of the little girl, and Paul rode M. Lechaptois' donkey, which had

been lent for the occasion on the condition that they should be
careful of it.

The road was so bad that it took two hours to cover the eight miles.
The two horses sank knee-deep into the mud and stumbled into ditches;

sometimes they had to jump over them. In certain places, Liebard's
mare stopped abruptly. He waited patiently till she started again, and

talked of the people whose estates bordered the road, adding his own
moral reflections to the outline of their histories. Thus, when they

were passing through Toucques, and came to some windows draped with
nasturtiums, he shrugged his shoulders and said: "There's a woman,

Madame Lehoussais, who, instead of taking a young man--" Felicite
could not catch what followed; the horses began to trot, the donkey to

gallop, and they turned into a lane; then a gate swung open, two farm-
hands appeared and they all dismounted at the very threshold of the

farm-house.
Mother Liebard, when she caught sight of her mistress, was lavish with

joyful demonstrations. She got up a lunch which comprised a leg of
mutton, tripe, sausages, a chicken fricassee, sweet cider, a fruit

tart and some preserved prunes; then to all this the good woman added
polite remarks about Madame, who appeared to be in better health,

Mademoiselle, who had grown to be "superb," and Paul, who had become
singularly sturdy; she spoke also of their deceased grandparents, whom

the Liebards had known, for they had been in the service of the family
for several generations.

Like its owners, the farm had an ancient appearance. The beams of the
ceiling were mouldy, the walls black with smoke and the windows grey

with dust. The oak sideboard was filled with all sorts of utensils,
plates, pitchers, tin bowls, wolf-traps. The children laughed when

they saw a huge syringe. There was not a tree in the yard that did not
have mushrooms growing around its foot, or a bunch of mistletoe

hanging in its branches. Several of the trees had been blown down, but
they had started to grow in the middle and all were laden with

quantities of apples. The thatched roofs, which were of unequal
thickness, looked like brown velvet and could resist the fiercest

gales. But the wagon-shed was fast crumbling to ruins. Madame Aubain
said that she would attend to it, and then gave orders to have the

horses saddled.
It took another thirty minutes to reach Trouville. The little caravan

dismounted in order to pass Les Ecores, a cliff that overhangs the
bay, and a few minutes later, at the end of the dock, they entered the

yard of the Golden Lamb, an inn kept by Mother David.
During the first few days, Virginia felt stronger, owing to the change

of air and the action of the sea-baths. She took them in her little
chemise, as she had no bathing suit, and afterwards her nurse dressed

her in the cabin of a customs officer, which was used for that purpose
by other bathers.

In the afternoon, they would take the donkey and go to the Roches-
Noires, near Hennequeville. The path led at first through undulating

grounds, and thence to a plateau, where pastures and tilled fields
alternated. At the edge of the road, mingling with the brambles, grew

holly bushes, and here and there stood large dead trees whose branches
traced zigzags upon the blue sky.

Ordinarily, they rested in a field facing the ocean, with Deauville on
their left, and Havre on their right. The sea glittered brightly in

the sun and was as smooth as a mirror, and so calm that they could
scarcely distinguish its murmur; sparrows chirped joyfully and the

immense canopy of heaven spread over it all. Madame Aubain brought out
her sewing, and Virginia amused herself by braiding reeds; Felicite

wove lavender blossoms, while Paul was bored and wished to go home.
Sometimes they crossed the Toucques in a boat, and started to hunt for

sea-shells. The outgoing tide exposed star-fish and sea-urchins, and
the children tried to catch the flakes of foam which the wind blew

away. The sleepy waves lapping the sand unfurled themselves along the
shore that extended as far as the eye could see, but where land began,

it was limited by the downs which separated it from the "Swamp," a
large meadow shaped like a hippodrome. When they went home that way,

Trouville, on the slope of a hill below, grew larger and larger as
they advanced, and, with all its houses of unequalheight, seemed to

spread out before them in a sort of giddy confusion.
When the heat was too oppressive, they remained in their rooms. The

dazzling sunlight cast bars of light between the shutters. Not a sound
in the village, not a soul on the sidewalk. This silence intensified

the tranquility of everything. In the distance, the hammers of some
calkers pounded the hull of a ship, and the sultrybreeze brought them

an odour of tar.
The principaldiversion consisted in watching the return of the

fishing-smacks. As soon as they passed the beacons, they began to ply
to windward. The sails were lowered to one third of the masts, and

with their fore-sails swelled up like balloons they glided over the
waves and anchored in the middle of the harbour. Then they crept up

alongside of the dock and the sailors threw the quivering fish over
the side of the boat; a line of carts was waiting for them, and women

with white caps sprang forward to receive the baskets and embrace
their men-folk.

One day, one of them spoke to Felicite, who, after a little while,
returned to the house gleefully. She had found one of her sisters, and

presently Nastasie Barette, wife of Leroux, made her appearance,
holding an infant in her arms, another child by the hand, while on her

left was a little cabin-boy with his hands in his pockets and his cap
on his ear.

At the end of fifteen minutes, Madame Aubain bade her go.
They always hung around the kitchen, or approached Felicite when she

and the children were out walking. The husband, however, did not show
himself.

Felicite developed a great fondness for them; she bought them a stove,
some shirts and a blanket; it was evident that they exploited her. Her

foolishness annoyed Madame Aubain, who, moreover did not like the
nephew's familiarity, for he called her son "thou";--and, as Virginia