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They were going along one of those narrow country lanes between farmyards， that are concealed beneath a double row of beech trees at either side of the ditches， and suddenly they found themselves in front of a gate， beside which there was a young spruce fir.
“This is it，” he said.
She stopped suddenly and looked about her. The courtyard， which was planted with apple trees， was large and extended as far as the small thatched dwelling house. On the opposite side were the stable， the barn， the cow house and the poultry house， while the gig， the wagon and the manure cart were under a slated outhouse. Four calves were grazing under the shade of the trees and black hens were wandering all about the enclosure.
All was perfectly still； the house door was open， but nobody was to be seen， and so they went in， when immediately a large black dog came out of a barrel that was standing under a pear tree， and began to bark furiously.
There were four bee—hives on boards against the wall of the house.
Monsieur d 'Apreval stood outside and called out：
“Is anybody at home？”
Then a child appeared， a little girl of about ten， dressed in a chemise and a linen petticoat， with dirty， bare legs and a timid and cunning look. She remained standing in the doorway， as if to prevent any one going in.
“What do you want？” she asked.
“Is your father in？”
“No.”
“Where is he？”
“I don't know.”
“And your mother？”
“Gone after the cows.”
“Will she be back soon？”
“I don't know.”
Then suddenly the lady， as if she feared that her companion might force her to return， said quickly：
“I shall not go without having seen him.”
“We will wait for him， my dear friend.”
As they turned away， they saw a peasant woman coming toward the house， carrying two tin pails， which appeared to be heavy and which glistened brightly in the sunlight.
She limped with her right leg， and in her brown knitted jacket， that was faded by the sun and washed out by the rain， she looked like a poor， wretched， dirty servant.
“Here is mamma，” the child said.
When she got close to the house， she looked at the strangers angrily and suspiciously， and then she went in， as if she had not seen them. She looked old and had a hard， yellow， wrinkled face， one of those wooden faces that country people so often have.
Monsieur d 'Apreval called her back.
“I beg your pardon， madame， but we came in to know whether you could sell us two glasses of milk.”
She was grumbling when she reappeared in the door， after putting down her pails.
“I don't sell milk，” she replied.
“We are very thirsty，” he said， “and madame is very tired. Can we not get something to drink？”
The peasant woman gave them an uneasy and cunning glance and then she made up her mind.
“As you are here， I will give you some，” she said， going into the house， and almost immediately the child came out and brought two chairs， which she placed under an apple tree， and then the mother， in turn brought out two bowls of foaming milk， which she gave to the visitors. She did not return to the house， however， but remained standing near them， as if to watch them and to find out for what purpose they had come there.
“You have come from Fecamp？” she said.
“Yes，” Monsieur d 'Apreval replied， “we are staying at Fecamp for the summer.”
And then， after a short silence he continued：
“Have you any fowls you could sell us every week？”
The woman hesitated for a moment and then replied：
“Yes， I think I have. I suppose you want young ones？”
“Yes， of course.”
“What do you pay for them in the market？”
D 'Apreval， who had not the least idea， turned to his companion：
“What are you paying for poultry in Fecamp， my dear lady？”
“Four francs and four francs fifty centimes，” she said， her eyes full of tears， while the farmer's wife， who was looking at her askance， asked in much surprise：
“Is the lady ill， as she is crying？”
He did not know what to say， and replied with some hesitation：
“No—no—but she lost her watch as we came along， a very handsome watch， and that troubles her. If anybody should find it， please let us know.”
Mother Benedict did not reply， as she thought it a very equivocal sort of answer， but suddenly she exclaimed：
“Oh， here is my husband！”
She was the only one who had seen him， as she was facing the gate. D 'Apreval started and Madame de Cadour nearly fell as she turned round suddenly on her chair.
A man bent nearly double， and out of breath， stood there， ten yards from them， dragging a cow at the end of a rope. Without taking any notice of the visitors， he said：
“Confound it！ What a brute！”
And he went past them and disappeared in the cow house.
Her tears had dried quickly as she sat there startled， without a word and with the one thought in her mind， that this was her son， and D 'Apreval， whom the same thought had struck very unpleasantly， said in an agitated voice：
“Is this Monsieur Benedict？”
“Who told you his name？” the wife asked， still rather suspiciously.
“The blacksmith at the corner of the highroad，” he replied， and then they were all silent， with their eyes fixed on the door of the cow house， which formed a sort of black hole in the wall of the building. Nothing could be seen inside， but they heard a vague noise， movements and footsteps and the sound of hoofs， which were deadened by the straw on the floor， and soon the man reappeared in the door， wiping his forehead， and came toward the house with long， slow strides. He passed the strangers without seeming to notice them and said to his wife：
“Go and draw me a jug of cider； I am very thirsty.”
Then he went back into the house， while his wife went into the cellar and left the two Parisians alone.
“Let us go， let us go， Henri，” Madame de Cadour said， nearly distracted with grief， and so d 'Apreval took her by the arm， helped her to rise， and sustaining her with all his strength， for he felt that she was nearly fainting， he led her out， after throwing five francs on one of the chairs.
As soon as they were outside the gate， she began to sob and said， shaking with grief：
“Oh！ oh！ is that what you have made of him？”
He was very pale and replied coldly：
“I did what I could. His farm is worth eighty thousand francs， and that is more than most of the sons of the middle classes have.”
They returned slowly， without speaking a word. She was still crying； the tears ran down her cheeks continually for a time， but by degrees they stopped， and they went back to Fecamp， where they found Monsieur de Cadour waiting dinner for them. As soon as he saw them， he began to laugh and exclaimed：
“So my wife has had a sunstroke， and I am very glad of it. I really think she has lost her head for some time past！”
Neither of them replied， and when the husband asked them， rubbing his hands：
“Well， I hope that， at least， you have had a pleasant walk？”
Monsieur d 'Apreval replied：
“A delightful walk， I assure you； perfectly delightful.”
Life is too short for a long story.
时间太少，小说太长，不如读一篇短故事。
“罪证确凿” 的杀人凶犯，熬过二十年漫漫冤狱；隐藏身份的女钢琴家，引得贵族小伙儿患得患失；四个日子宛若春夏秋冬，即带来希望，也难免悲剧；一片面包看似微不足道，即挽救生命，也荡涤灵魂。
人生起伏跌宕，世事变幻无常，莫泊桑、左拉、托尔斯泰、史蒂文森……文学大家带来8个精彩短篇，加上全新的译文诠释，邀读者一起体悟人生百味，领略两种语言的魅力。
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