"It was good of you to come," said Donalda. "Oh, if you only knew how much I am suffering."

"Be patient, my dear. You'll get better soon. I'll look after everything. I'll take good care of you. Now, would you like some chicken soup?"

"Do you have chicken soup?"

"Not at the moment, but I could kill a chicken. It won't take long."

Donalda sat up in bed, her hands clasped together in an fervent prayer. She found the strength to say :

"Don't do that Bertine. He would kill me"

And then she collapsed.

Bertine soon went downstairs, swept the kitchen, tidied everything, dusted everywhere, cleaned out the stove. She was like a bee, brisk, neat, working in an orderly fashion.
Séraphin watched her out of the corner of his eye as he mended the belt of a harness. Having this beautiful young girl in the house gave him an unfamiliar feeling of cheerfulness. He felt fresh blood stirring in his veins. Despite himself, his eyes kept returning to rest on Bertine's ample posterior, on those firm round calves that her short skirt plainly revealed, and especially on her breasts, the most beautiful in the world, that practically burst out of a corset that was too small for her. Never had Poudrier been so convulsed by desire. Lust, that old lust that he had fought for so many years, regained the upper hand. He gave way to it. He totally forgot that his wife was perhaps close to death, and that Bertine had come specifically to help her. He imagined how he would take her, soon, very soon, in the hay in the barn, this delicious country girl with plump red lips and eyes that seemed to gleam with craving and wantonness.
The totally respectable Bertine was unaware of either the man or his sin. She never considered that her body could arouse her cousin. She went on working.

With his impure desires mounting more and more, Séraphin went outside to pretend to chop some wood. For Bertine, he thought, would come out soon. He could talk to her. Already he was getting carried away by the visions of his groping. But he was startled out of his dream by the presence of the young girl who was standing in front of him holding a knife.

"Which chicken shall I kill, cousin?" she asked.

"Eh? Kill a chicken! Kill a chicken!" he repeated.

Then at once he recovered himself :
"You're right. I had thought about it, my dear. I was just about to kill one when you arrived. There, take that one there, the little grey one."

Bertine was not long in returning with the bird. She plucked and gutted it, washed it and put it on the fire, all in the matter of a few minutes.

"What a smart girl," thought Séraphin, never taking his eyes off her. "And my God, what a backside! What a backside! You could never get tired of that. A really beautiful girl."

And Séraphin went into the kitchen, restless, unable to keep still. He kindled the fire as he kindled his desires. He pumped water into the sink. He almost felt like singing. He felt young, merry, happy. The tantalising girl made him forget the cost of the bird.

As five o'clock struck he went to the cowshed to milk the cows and feed the animals. As for Bertine, she was making supper. But she could find nothing, no butter, no lard, no tea, not even bread.

"There's no bread in the house?" she asked her cousin, who was returning with a pan almost full of warm milk.

"No? That's odd. Your cousin baked last week. Is it all eaten already?"

"And there's no tea either?"

"We drank what was left this morning. I still need to go to the village to buy the things that we're out of. But I’ve been far too busy."

"In that case," said Bertine, "We'll make do with what we have."

She made pancakes with buckwheat flour and put a jug of milk on the table. And, after straining the soup, with the flesh she made chicken in a tasty white sauce, thickened with flour and milk.

Séraphin couldn't believe his eyes.

"There's no doubt," he thought, "that if this little spendthrift stays here another couple of days, I'll be ruined."

Bertine sprinkled salt (she couldn't find any pepper) on the steaming bowl of soup, and took it up to the invalid.

Sitting up in bed, Donalda appeared to be improving. Her cousin thought her eyes looked clearer and her colour was better. In fact her left cheek was particularly pink.

"Take this, cousin," she said, holding out the bowl. "It's rich, it will do you good."

The invalid had a smile for Bertine. Now she helped her to drink by supporting her head.

"This is good! This is good! I think that I will get better. Thank you."

"Don't worry about anything, Donalda. If you need me, you only have to call. Now I'm going to give your husband his supper."

And she went lightly downstairs, not making a sound. She lit two candles, one at each end of the table.

"It's odd, Bertine," said Séraphin, helping himself to white sauce, "that your father hasn't arrived. He promised to be here at five o' clock."

She replied dryly that her father did what he could, and to let him alone. Bertine talked like this because she absolutely detested her cousin who, even though he had married, remained a disgusting old guy, an old penny-pincher who scrimped on bread, tea, milk, butter and pepper. She could scarcely bring herself to look at him. His bony body, twisted like a gnarled tree, his shaved head, his long face, his toothless mouth, his evil greedy eyes, everything about him filled her with horror.

But he desired her passionately. He had wanted to engage in a discussion which would perhaps lead to a physical union. On the contrary, the conversation fell flat, like a stone in water.
Séraphin ate with an appetite, as he had never eaten before in all his life. He breathed heavily, looking straight ahead, while the pieces of chicken and pancake quickly disappeared. He was soon finished. He got up, getting ready to leave. Bertine said to him :

"We need wood."

"I'll go and bring some back."

He went to the cowshed, returning a long time afterwards.

"And the wood?"

"Oh yes. The wood. I forgot."

He went out once more. It was dark but Poudrier worked just as well in the shadows as he did at midday. For did he not often work by the faint light of the stars? To saw and chop wood in the pitch black near to the house was not a big thing for him. He hurried and came back in with two armfuls of logs, which he had previously counted outside.

Her chores finished, Bertine went up to see the invalid.

Donalda was not asleep. She never slept, and she never asked for anything to eat. The alarming shivering had disappeared but an exhausting fever burned her from head to toe. She asked for water. She was thirsty. She was always thirsty. She breathed with the greatest of difficulty. She gasped for air.

"Do you want your husband to fetch the doctor?" suggested Bertine.

"No, not today. Let's wait till tomorrow. Perhaps I'll get better tonight."

Donalda punctuated her words with long silences, as if she were looking for them at the foot of an abyss, where there was no longer any air or light.

"In any case," added Bertine, "I will sleep up here to keep an eye on you. Your husband can sleep in the other room or wherever he wants."

Bertine came across Séraphin pacing slowly around the kitchen. By the light of the candle she started to leaf through some old newspapers. The wind was getting up. It was still very cold. A tense atmosphere alighted on the Poudrier household, and, unable to resist any longer, Bertine eventually opened her mouth.

"Why don't you light a little fire upstairs? Then you could sleep in the guest room."

"It's not worth it, my girl. I'll make myself a nice bed down here with the rocking chair up against the sideboard."

"I know you can look after yourself. Sleep well. I'll keep an eye on Donalda tonight. Goodnight."
"Goodnight."

And she went upstairs, taking a lighted candle from the table.

It was then that Poudrier calculated that, for five hours during the evening, two candles had been burning uselessly.

"What a waste!" he thought. "This girl will surely have me out on the street."

And, no doubt to console himself, and after ensuring that the door and the two windows were securely closed, he went upstairs without making the slightest sound. He mounted the shadowy staircase that led to the three sacks of oats.

He plunged his cold hand in one of the sacks with such desire! such pleasure! such a rush of joy and passion! At the first attempt he touched the leather purse. The gold, the silver, the banknotes, life, heaven, God. Everything. He let out a long sigh. For a moment he remained in the shadows, dazed by his voluptuousness, then, after padlocking the door of this secret room he descended, like a thief, the dozen steps of the rickety staircase, driven by another passion. If only he could see Bertine undressing. Only a glimpse. A flash of skin in the night. Just for a moment. How he would keep that startling picture in his mind's eye all his life! But he didn't move, still hoping to hear the noise of a corset being removed. Nothing.

"Could she already be in her night gown?" he thought. "What bad luck!"

His old heart beat hard. Frankly, did the three sacks of oats hold more power of appeal than Bertine's flesh? He couldn't wait any more. He would risk it. He climbed the first step. He planned to reach the attic in two leaps, and surprise Bertine half-naked. He put his foot on the third step which creaked.

"Do you want something cousin?" cried Bertine in a loud voice.

"Only to see how Donalda is."

"Not too bad. If she gets worse I'll wake you. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," said Séraphin weakly, deciding to go to bed.

He made up a bed with two chairs, some coats, and an old blanket. He had scarcely turned on his right side, offering his old bones up to sleep, when Donalda began to cough terribly.

It was a dry cough that came in spasms.

Bertine lit a candle and went to the side of the invalid who was almost sitting up in bed and suffering from a pain in her side which pierced her body when she breathed and especially when she coughed.

"Oh, how thirsty I am," she sighed.

"Perhaps you're drinking too much, Donalda," said Bertine, offering her a glass.

"If only you knew what a headache I have and how hot I am."

"Try to sleep, you poor thing. Tomorrow morning we shall fetch the doctor," Bertine assured her, tucking her in up to the chin.

After which she extinguished the candle and the house returned to the night. The wind still blew across the shingled roof, across the meadow, and over the desolate slopes. Then it stopped. The only sound that could be heard was the laboured breathing of the sick woman and from time to time the wheezing cough which penetrated her flesh.

By sheer force of prayer, by asking for pardon for all her sins, and by forgiving others, at the price of all her courage and sacrifice, Donalda made it to daybreak without disturbing anyone. Nevertheless, before the dawn had adorned the slender spruces and the huge wild cherries on the top of the mountain with a crown of opals, Bertine was already up and dressed.
She found the invalid lying on her right side, her eyes wide open, more brilliant than ever, and fixed on the crucifix hanging on the wall.

"How do you feel this morning," asked Bertine.

Donalda made an agonising effort to breathe. Her cheeks were burning and sweat covered her forehead.

"I coughed… all… night. But … the … pain ….is not … so bad. Maybe … because … I coughed ... up some mucus."
Bertine let out a cry on seeing the bowl, where the phlegm was tinged with blood, the colour of barley sugar, thick and viscous. She immediately went down to the kitchen to throw away this poison and to wash out the bowl. Through the window she saw Séraphin going out to the barn, a pitchfork over his shoulder. She went right out to him.

"Listen, cousin. Donalda is coughing blood. She has to see a doctor. She hasn't slept all night."
Poudrier stuck his old pitchfork in the frozen earth and wrapping his hands around it thought for a while. Then, very calmly, he said :

"Yes, she's certainly ill. But how do we know the doctor is at home?"

"You'll have to go in order to find out."

"You're right. Fine. I think I'll go on over there. I'll go as soon as I've finished my work."
And the man slowly lifted some hay over to the animals.

"I will milk the cows myself. You go to the village, cousin. Hurry up," cried Bertine from the threshold.

A half hour later Séraphin Poudrier disappeared, like a shadow, over the hillside. He could not go quickly : his horse was out of breath and the buggy was in danger of falling to pieces.