The Descoings had draped the windows with brocatelle curtains torn from the bed of some monastic prior.

To the left of the entrance-door, stood a chest or coffer, worth many thousand francs, which the doctor now used for a sideboard.
"Here, Fanchette," cried Rouget to his cook, "bring two glasses; and give us some of the old wine." Fanchette, a big Berrichon countrywoman, who was considered a better cook than even La Cognette, ran in to receive the order with a celerity which said much for the doctor's despotism, and something also for her own curiosity.
"What is an acre of vineyard worth in your parts ?" asked the doctor, pouring out a glass of wine for Brazier.
"Three hundred francs in silver." "Well, then! leave your niece here as my servant; she shall have three hundred francs in wages, and, as you are her guardian, you can take them." "Every year ?" exclaimed Brazier, with his eyes as wide as saucers.
"I leave that to your conscience," said the doctor.

"She is an orphan; up to eighteen, she has no right to what she earns." "Twelve to eighteen--that's six acres of vineyard!" said the uncle.

"Ay, she's a pretty one, gentle as a lamb, well made and active, and obedient as a kitten.

She were the light o' my poor brother's eyes--" "I will pay a year in advance," observed the doctor.
"Bless me! say two years, and I'll leave her with you, for she'll be better off with you than with us; my wife beats her, she can't abide her.