exception of a few more lonely years, her life was over and done, she
would build all sorts of castles in the air and make plans for such a
happy future, just as she had done when she was sixteen. Then suddenly
remembering the bitter reality she would get up again, feeling as if a
heavy load had fallen upon her, and return home, murmuring:

"Oh, you old fool! You old fool!"

Now Rosalie was always saying to her:

"Do keep still, madame. What on earth makes you want to run about so?"

"I can't help it," Jeanne would reply sadly. "I am like Massacre was
before he died."

One morning Rosalie went into her mistress's room earlier than usual.

"Make haste and drink up your coffee," she said as she placed the cup on
the table. "Denis is waiting to take us to Les Peuples. I have to go
over there on business."

Jeanne was so excited that she thought she would have fainted, and, as
she dressed herself with trembling fingers, she could hardly believe
she was going to see her dear home once more.

Overhead was a bright, blue sky, and, as they went along, Denis's pony
would every now and then break into a gallop. When they reached
Etouvent, Jeanne could hardly breathe, her heart beat so quickly, and
when she saw the brick pillars beside the chateau gate, she exclaimed,
"Oh," two or three times in a low voice, as if she were in the presence
of something which stirred her very soul, and she could not help
herself.

They put up the horse at the Couillards' farm, and, when Rosalie and her
son went to attend to their business, the farmer asked Jeanne if she
would like to go over the chateau, as the owner was away, and gave her
the key.

She went off alone, and when she found herself opposite the old manor
she stood still to look at it. The outside had not been touched since
she had left. All the shutters were closed, and the sunbeams were
dancing on the gray walls of the big, weather-beaten building. A little
piece of wood fell on her dress, she looked up and saw that it had
fallen from the plane tree, and she went up to the big tree and stroked
its pale, smooth bark as if it had been alive. Her foot touched a piece
of rotten wood lying in the grass; it was the last fragment of the seat
on which she had so often sat with her loved ones--the seat which had
been put up the very day of Julien's first visit to the chateau.

Then she went to the hall-door. She had some difficulty in opening it as
the key was rusty and would not