Passerose tried to lead Violette away.

"Come," said she; "come, Violette, let us seek a shelter for the
night--the evening fortunately is mild."

"What shelter do I want?" said Violette. "What is the evening to me or
the morning? There are no more beautiful days for me! The sun will shine
no more but to illumine my despair!"

"But if we remain here weeping we shall die of hunger, Violette, and in
spite of the bitterest grief, we must think of the necessities of life."

"Better to die of hunger than of grief! I will not leave this place
where I saw my dear Ourson for the last time--where he perished, a
victim of his tenderness for us."

Passerose shrugged her shoulders; she remembered that the stable had not
been burned so she ran there with all speed, milked the cow, drank a
cupful of milk and tried in vain to make Agnella and Violette do the
same.

Agnella rose and said to Violette in a solemn tone:

"Your grief is just, my daughter. Never did a more noble or generous
heart beat in a human form than Ourson's and he loved you more than he
loved himself--to spare your grief he sacrificed his happiness and his
life."

Agnella now recounted to Violette the scene which preceded Ourson's
birth, the power Violette had to deliver him from his deformity by
accepting it for herself and Ourson's constant prayer that Violette
should never be informed of the possibility of such a sacrifice.

It is easy to comprehend the feelings of loving tenderness and regret
which filled the heart of Violette after this confidence and she wept
more bitterly than ever.

"And now, my daughter," continued Agnella, "there remains one duty to
fulfil, that is to give burial to my son. We must clear away these ruins
and remove the ashes and when we have found the remains of our
well-beloved Ourson----"

Sobs interrupted her speech; she could say no more.

THE WELL

Agnella, Violette and Passerose walked slowly towards the burned walls
of the farmhouse. With the courage of despair they removed the smoking
ruins. They worked diligently two days before this work was completed.
No vestige of poor Ourson appeared and yet they had removed piece by
piece, handful by handful, all that covered the site. On removing the
last half-burned planks, Violette perceived an aperture, which she
quickly enlarged. It was the orifice of a well. Her heart beat
violently--a vague hope inspired it.

"Ourson!" cried she, with a faint voice.

"Violet