h. Why should she? Did she not already know
enough? Everyone except herself thought it had been an accident, and
she never revealed to anyone the terrible secret of her husband's
adultery, and of the comte's sudden, fearful visit the day of the
catastrophe.

Her soul was filled with the sweet, tender memories of the few, short
hours of bliss she owed to her husband, and she always pictured him to
herself as he had been when they were betrothed, and when she had adored
him in the only moments of sensual passion of her life. She forgot all
his faults and harshness; even his infidelity seemed more pardonable now
that death stood between him and her. She felt a sort of vague gratitude
to this man who had clasped her in his arms, and she forgave him the
sorrows he had caused her, and dwelt only on the happy moments they had
passed together.

As time wore on and month followed month, covering her grief and
memories with the dust of forgetfulness, Jeanne devoted herself entirely
to her son. The child became the idol, the one engrossing thought, of
the three beings over whom he ruled like any despot; there was even a
sort of jealousy between his three slaves, for Jeanne grudged the hearty
kisses he gave the baron when the latter rode him on his knees, and Aunt
Lison, who was neglected by this baby, as she had always been by
everyone, and was regarded as a servant by this master who could not
talk yet, would go to her room and cry as she compared the few kisses,
which she had so much difficulty in obtaining, with the embraces the
child so freely lavished on his mother and grandfather.

Two peaceful, uneventful years were passed thus in devoted attention to
the child; then, at the beginning of the third winter, it was arranged
that they should all go to Rouen until the spring. But they had hardly
arrived at the damp, old house before Paul had such a severe attack of
bronchitis, that pleurisy was feared. His distracted mother was
convinced that no other air but that of Les Peuples agreed with him, and
they all went back there as soon as he was well.

Then came a series of quiet, monotonous years. Jeanne, her father, and
Aunt Lison spent all their time with the child, and were continually
going into raptures over the way he lisped, or with his funny sayings
and doings. Jeanne lovingly called him "Paulet," and, when he tried to
repeat the word, he made them all laugh by pronouncing it "Poulet," for
he could not speak plainly. Th