m I had almost
forgotten. I seem to see them, to hear their voices, and it makes me
sad. You will feel the same, later on."

If the baron came in and found them talking like this, he would say:

"Jeanne, my dear, if you take my advice, you will burn all your
letters--those from your mother, mine, everyone's. There is nothing more
painful than to stir up the memories of one's youth when one is old."

But Jeanne, who had inherited her mother's sentimental instincts, though
she differed from her in nearly everything else, carefully kept all her
old letters to form a "souvenir-box" for her old age, also.

A few days after his arrival, business called the baron away again. The
baroness soon began to get better, and Jeanne, forgetting Julien's
infidelity and Gilberte's treachery, was almost perfectly happy. The
weather was splendid. Mild, starlit nights followed the soft evenings,
and dazzling sunrises commenced the glorious days. The fields were
covered with bright, sweet-smelling flowers, and the vast calm sea
glittered in the sun from morning till night.

One afternoon Jeanne went into the fields with Paul in her arms. She
felt an exquisite gladness as she looked now at her son, now at the
flowery hedgerows, and every minute she pressed her baby closely to her
and kissed him. The earth exhaled a faint perfume, and, as she walked
along, she felt as though her happiness were too great for her. Then she
thought of her child's future. What would he be? Sometimes she hoped he
would become a great and famous man. Sometimes she felt she would
rather he remained with her, passing his life in tender devotion to his
mother and unknown to the world. When she listened to the promptings of
her mother's heart, she wished him to remain simply her adored son; but
when she listened to her reason and her pride she hoped he would make a
name and become something of importance in the world.

She sat down at the edge of a ditch and studied the child's face as if
she had never really looked at it before. It seemed so strange to think
that this little baby would grow up, and walk with manly strides, that
these soft cheeks would become bearded, and the feeble murmur change to
a deep-toned voice.

Someone called her, and, looking up, she saw Marius running towards her.
Thinking he had come to announce some visitor, she got up, feeling vexed
at being disturbed. The boy was running as fast as his legs could carry
him.

"Madame!" he cried, w