ion, a woman whose funeral, if it had taken place in London,
would have been recorded in pompous newspaper paragraphs, as a sort of
aristocratic rite, if she had not committed the sweetest of crimes, a
crime always expiated in this world, so that the pardoned spirit may
enter heaven. Marie cried when they threw the earth on his mother's
coffin; he understood that he should see her no more.

A simple, wooden cross, set up to mark her grave, bore this inscription,
due to the cure of Saint-Cyr:--

HERE LIES
AN UNHAPPY WOMAN,
WHO DIED AT THE AGE OF THIRTY-SIX.
KNOWN IN HEAVEN BY THE NAME OF AUGUSTA.
_Pray for her!_

When all was over, the children came back to La Grenadiere to take a
last look at their home; then, hand in hand, they turned to go with
Annette, leaving the vinedresser in charge, with directions to hand over
everything duly to the proper authorities.

At this moment, Annette called to Louis from the steps by the kitchen
door, and took him aside with, "Here is madame's ring, Monsieur Louis."

The sight of this vivid remembrance of his dead mother moved him so
deeply that he wept. In his fortitude, he had not even thought of this
supreme piety; and he flung his arms round the old woman's neck. Then
the three set out down the beaten path, and the stone staircase, and so
to Tours, without turning their heads.

"Mamma used to come there!" Marie said when they reached the bridge.

Annette had a relative, a retired dressmaker, who lived in the Rue de la
Guerche. She took the two children to this cousin's house, meaning that
they should live together thenceforth. But Louis told her of his plans,
gave Marie's certificate of birth and the ten thousand francs into her
keeping, and the two went the next morning to take Marie to school.

Louis very briefly explained his position to the headmaster, and went.
Marie came with him as far as the gateway. There Louis gave solemn
parting words of the tenderest counsel, telling Marie that he would now
be left alone in the world. He looked at his brother for a moment, and
put his arms about him, took one more long look, brushed a tear from his
eyes, and went, turning again and again till the very last to see his
brother standing there in the gateway of the school.

A month later Louis-Gaston, now an apprentice on board a man-of-war,
left the harbor of Rochefort. Leaning over the