rginia's room and gazed
at the walls. She missed combing her hair, lacing her shoes, tucking her
in her bed, and the bright face and little hand when they used to go out
for a walk. In order to occupy herself she tried to make lace. But her
clumsy fingers broke the threads; she had no heart for anything, lost
her sleep and "wasted away," as she put it.

In order to have some distraction, she asked leave to receive the visits
of her nephew Victor.

He would come on Sunday, after church, with ruddy cheeks and bared
chest, bringing with him the scent of the country. She would set the
table and they would sit down opposite each other, and eat their dinner;
she ate as little as possible, herself, to avoid any extra expense, but
would stuff him so with food that he would finally go to sleep. At the
first stroke of vespers, she would wake him up, brush his trousers, tie
his cravat and walk to church with him, leaning on his arm with maternal
pride.

His parents always told him to get something out of her, either a
package of brown sugar, or soap, or brandy, and sometimes even money.
He brought her his clothes to mend, and she accepted the task gladly,
because it meant another visit from him.

In August, his father took him on a coasting-vessel.

It was vacation time and the arrival of the children consoled Felicite.
But Paul was capricious, and Virginia was growing too old to be
thee-and-thou'd, a fact which seemed to produce a sort of embarrassment
in their relations.

Victor went successively to Morlaix, to Dunkirk, and to Brighton;
whenever he returned from a trip he would bring her a present. The first
time it was a box of shells; the second, a coffee-cup; the third, a big
doll of ginger-bread. He was growing handsome, had a good figure, a tiny
moustache, kind eyes, and a little leather cap that sat jauntily on the
back of his head. He amused his aunt by telling her stories mingled with
nautical expressions.

One Monday, the 14th of July, 1819 (she never forgot the date), Victor
announced that he had been engaged on a merchant-vessel and that in two
days he would take the steamer at Honfleur and join his sailer, which
was going to start from Havre very soon. Perhaps he might be away two
years.

The prospect of his departure filled Felicite with despair, and in order
to bid him farewell, on Wednesday night, after Madame's dinner, she put
on her pattens and trudged the four miles that separated Pont-l'Eveque
from