And the child shrank back no longer, but was carried as if inanimate;
her teeth closely set, her eyes shut, chilled through and through, and
with the lightness of a little bird that had just fallen from its nest.
They went in. Hubert shut the door, while Hubertine, bearing her burden,
passed through the front room, which served as a parlour, and where
some embroidered bands were spread out for show before the great
square window. Then she went into the kitchen, the old servants' hall,
preserved almost intact, with its heavy beams, its flagstone floor
mended in a dozen places, and its great fireplace with its stone
mantelpiece. On shelves were the utensils, the pots, kettles, and
saucepans, that dated back one or two centuries; and the dishes were
of old stone, or earthenware, and of pewter. But on the middle of the
hearth was a modern cooking-stove, a large cast-iron one, whose copper
trimmings were wondrously bright. It was red from heat, and the
water was bubbling away in its boiler. A large porringer, filled with
coffee-and-milk, was on one corner of it.
"Oh! how much more comfortable it is here than outside," said Hubert, as
he put the bread down on a heavy table of the style of Louis XIII, which
was in the centre of the room.
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