In a few minutes, Julien was alone in his new domicile, and began to open his boxes and valises.

The chimney, which had not been used since the preceding winter, smoked unpleasantly, and the damp logs only blackened instead of burning.

The boxes lay wide open, and the room of the deceased Claude de Buxieres had the uncomfortable aspect of a place long uninhabited.

Julien had seated himself in one of the large armchairs, covered in Utrecht velvet, and endeavored to rekindle the dying fire.

He felt at loose ends and discouraged, and had no longer the courage to arrange his clothes in the open wardrobes, which stood open, emitting a strong odor of decaying mold.
The slight breath of joyous and renewed life which had animated him on leaving the Vincart farm, had suddenly evaporated.