ed to be kept in life by an impassioned soul
and intense love of her children. Old Annette seemed to see that death
was very near. That mistress, beautiful still, was more careful of her
appearance than she had ever been; she was at pains to adorn her wasted
self, and wore paint on her cheeks; but often while she walked on the
upper terrace with the children, Annette's wrinkled face would peer out
from between the savin trees by the pump. The old woman would forget her
work, and stand with wet linen in her hands, scarce able to keep back
her tears at the sight of Mme. Willemsens, so little like the enchanting
woman she once had been.

The pretty house itself, once so gay and bright, looked melancholy; it
was a very quiet house now, and the family seldom left it, for the walk
to the bridge was too great an effort for Mme. Willemsens. Louis had
almost identified himself, as it were, with his mother, and with his
suddenly developed powers of imagination he saw the weariness and
exhaustion under the red color, and constantly found reasons for taking
some shorter walk.

So happy couples coming to Saint-Cyr, then the Petite Courtille of
Tours, and knots of folk out for their evening walk along the "dike,"
saw a pale, thin figure dressed in black, a woman with a worn yet bright
face, gliding like a shadow along the terraces. Great suffering
cannot be concealed. The vinedresser's household had grown quiet also.
Sometimes the laborer and his wife and children were gathered about the
door of their cottage, while Annette was washing linen at the well-head,
and Mme. Willemsens and the children sat in the summer-house, and there
was not the faintest sound in those gardens gay with flowers. Unknown to
Mme. Willemsens, all eyes grew pitiful at the sight of her, she was
so good, so thoughtful, so dignified with those with whom she came in
contact.

And as for her.--When the autumn days came on, days so sunny and bright
in Touraine, bringing with them grapes and ripe fruits and healthful
influences which must surely prolong life in spite of the ravages of
mysterious disease--she saw no one but her children, taking the utmost
that the hour could give her, as if each hour had been her last.

Louis had worked at night, unknown to his mother, and made immense
progress between June and September. In algebra he had come as far
as equations with two unknown quantities; he had studied descriptive
geometry, and drew admirably well; in fact,