to join her child, and cried in
the midst of her dreams. Of the latter, one more especially haunted her.
Her husband, dressed like a sailor, had come back from a long voyage,
and with tears in his eyes told her that he had received the order to
take Virginia away. Then they both consulted about a hiding-place.

Once she came in from the garden, all upset. A moment before (and she
showed the place), the father and daughter had appeared to her, one
after the other; they did nothing but look at her.

During several months she remained inert in her room. Felicite scolded
her gently; she must keep up for her son and also for the other one, for
"her memory."

"Her memory!" replied Madame Aubain, as if she were just awakening, "Oh!
yes, yes, you do not forget her!" This was an allusion to the cemetery
where she had been expressly forbidden to go.

But Felicite went there every day. At four o'clock exactly, she would go
through the town, climb the hill, open the gate and arrive at Virginia's
tomb. It was a small column of pink marble with a flat stone at its
base, and it was surrounded by a little plot enclosed by chains. The
flower-beds were bright with blossoms. Felicite watered their leaves,
renewed the gravel, and knelt on the ground in order to till the earth
properly. When Madame Aubain was able to visit the cemetery she felt
very much relieved and consoled.

Years passed, all alike and marked by no other events than the return
of the great church holidays: Easter, Assumption, All Saints' Day.
Household happenings constituted the only data to which in later years
they often referred. Thus, in 1825, workmen painted the vestibule; in
1827, a portion of the roof almost killed a man by falling into the
yard. In the summer of 1828, it was Madame's turn to offer the hallowed
bread; at that time, Bourais disappeared mysteriously; and the
old acquaintances, Guyot, Liebard, Madame Lechaptois, Robelin, old
Gremanville, paralysed since a long time, passed away one by one. One
night, the driver of the mail in Pont-l'Eveque announced the Revolution
of July. A few days afterward a new sub-prefect was nominated, the Baron
de Larsonniere, ex-consul in America, who, besides his wife, had his
sister-in-law and her three grown daughters with him. They were often
seen on their lawn, dressed in loose blouses, and they had a parrot
and a negro servant. Madame Aubain received a call, which she returned
promptly. As soon as she caught sight