d just going
out. But one detail had not been mentioned, and that was the devoted
affection and truly maternal care which Madame Astier showed for the
'poor little woman' in these distressing circumstances.

Their friendship had begun some years ago, when a prize for an
historical work had been adjudged to the Prince de Rosen by the
Academie, 'on the report of Astier-Rehu.' Differences of age and social
position had however kept them apart until the Princess's mourning
removed the barrier. When the widow's door was solemnly closed against
society, Madame Astier alone escaped the interdict. Madame Astier was
the only person allowed to cross the threshold of the mansion, or rather
the convent, inhabited by the poor weeping Carmelite with her shaven
head and robe of black; Madame Astier was the only person admitted
to hear the mass sung twice a week at St. Philip's for the repose of
Herbert's soul; and it was she who heard the letters which Colette wrote
every evening to her absent husband, relating her life and the way
she spent her days. All mourning, however rigid, involves attention to
material details which are degrading to grief but demanded by society.
Liveries must be ordered, trappings provided for horses and carriages,
and the heartbroken mourner must face the hypocritical sympathy of
the tradesman. All these duties were discharged by Madame Astier with
never-failing patience. She undertook the heavy task of managing the
household, which the tear-laden eyes of its fair mistress could no
longer supervise, and so spared the young widow all that could disturb
her despair, or disarrange her hours for praying, weeping, writing 'to
him,' and carrying armfuls of exotic flowers to the cemetery of Pere
Lachaise, where Paul Astier was superintending the erection of a
gigantic mausoleum in commemorative stone brought at the express wish of
the Princess from the scene of the tragedy.

Unfortunately the quarrying of this stone and its conveyance from
Illyria, the difficulties of carving granite, and the endless plans and
varying fancies of the widow, to whom nothing seemed sufficiently huge
and magnificent to suit her dead hero, had brought about many hitches
and delays. So it happened that in May 1880, two years and more after
the catastrophe and the commencement of the work, the monument was still
unfinished. Two years is a long time to maintain the constant paroxysms
of an ostentatious grief, each sufficient to discharge