‘It is the way of the country,’ said the Russian lady.  ’These Swiss peasants, who have so fair a reputation for sobriety, are mercenary above all:  they have no heart.’

Celeste lived with Madame Verine for one year.  At the end of that time Madame Verine arose one morning to find the breakfast was not cooked, nor the fire lit.  In the midst of disorder stood Celeste, with flushed cheeks and startled eyes, and a letter in her hand.

‘Ah, madam,’ she faltered, ’what a surprise!  The letter, it is from monsieur the notary, who lives in the market-place, and to me, madam—­to me!’

When Madame Verine took the letter she found told therein that an aunt of Celeste, who had lived far off in the Jura, was dead, and had left to Celeste a little fortune of five thousand francs, which was to be paid to her when she was twenty-one, or on her marriage day.

‘Ah,’ cried Celeste, weeping, ‘can it be true?  Can it be true?’

‘Of course, since monsieur the notary says so.’

’Ah, madam; let me run and see monsieur the notary.  Let me just ask him, and hear from his lips that it is true!’

So she ran out into the town, with her apron over her head, and Marie made the breakfast.

The Russian lady came down to talk it over.  ’The pretty child is distraught, and at so small a piece of good fortune!’ said she.

But when Celeste came in she was more composed.  ‘It is true,’ she said, with gentle joy, and she stood before them breathless and blushing.

‘It will be three years before you are twenty-one,’ said Madame Verine; ‘you will remain with me.’

‘If you please, madam, no,’ said Celeste, modestly casting down her eyes; ‘I must go to my native village.’

‘How!’ they cried.  ‘To whom will you go?’

Celeste blushed the more deeply, and twisted her apron.  ’I have good clothes; I have saved my year’s wages.  I will put up at the inn.  The wife of the innkeeper will be a mother to me now I can pay for my lodging.’

At which Madame Verine looked at the Russian lady, and that lady looked at her, and said behind her hand, ’Such a baby, and so clever!  It is the mere instinct of wisdom; it cannot be called forethought.’

It is to be observed that, all the world over, however carefully a mistress may guard her maid-servant, no great responsibility is felt when the engagement is broken.  Madame Verine shrugged her shoulders and got another servant.  Celeste went down to her village.

After that, when Marie walked in the market-place, she used to like to look at the notary’s house, and at him, if she could espy him in the street.  The house was a fine one, and the notary, in spite of iron-grey hair and a keen eye, good-looking; but that was not why Marie was interested; it was because he and his office seemed connected with the romance of life—­with Celeste’s good fortune.

When summer days grew long, Madame Verine, her friend and daughter, took a day’s holiday, and out of good nature they went to see Celeste.