Between the windows stood a rich
console, brought from some castle, on whose marble slab stood an
immense China jar, in which the doctor kept his tobacco. But neither
Rouget, nor his son, nor the cook, took the slightest care of all
these treasures. They spat upon a hearth of exquisite delicacy, whose
gilded mouldings were now green with verdigris. A handsome chandelier,
partly of semi-transparent porcelain, was peppered, like the ceiling
from which it hung, with black speckles, bearing witness to the
immunity enjoyed by the flies. 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.
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