Celeste went down to her village.
After that, when Marie walked in the market-place, she used to like to look at the notary's house, and at him, if she could espy him in the street.

The house was a fine one, and the notary, in spite of iron-grey hair and a keen eye, good-looking; but that was not why Marie was interested; it was because he and his office seemed connected with the romance of life--with Celeste's good fortune.
When summer days grew long, Madame Verine, her friend and daughter, took a day's holiday, and out of good nature they went to see Celeste.
'Celeste lives like a grand lady now,' cried the innkeeper's wife, on being questioned.

'She will have me take her coffee to her in bed each morning.' 'The wages she has saved will not hold out long,' said the visitors.
'When that is finished she gives us her note of hand for the money she will get when she is married.

She has shown us the notary's letter.

It is certainly a tidy sum she will have, and our son has some thoughts of marrying.' They saw Celeste, who was radiant; they saw young Fernand, who was paying his court to her.