After she had made a curtsey at the threshold, she would walk up the between the double lines of chairs, open Madame Aubain’s pew, sit down and look around.  
Girls and boys, the former on the right, the latter on the left-hand side of the church, filled the stalls of the ; the priest stood beside the reading-desk; on one stained window of the side-aisle the Holy Ghost over the ; on another one, Mary knelt before the Child Jesus, and behind the altar, a wooden group represented Saint Michael felling the dragon.
 
The priest first read a condensed lesson of sacred history. Felicite Paradise, the Flood, the Tower of Babel, the blazing cities, the dying nations, the shattered ; and out of this she developed a great respect for the and a great fear of His . Then, when she had listened to the Passion, she wept. Why had they crucified Him who loved little children, nourished the people, made the blind see, and who, out of , had wished to be born among the poor, in a stable? The sowings, the harvests, the wine-presses, all those familiar things which the mention, formed a part of her life; the word of God sanctified them; and she loved the lambs with increased tenderness for the sake of the Lamb, and the doves because of the Holy Ghost.
 
She found it hard, however, to think of the latter as a person, for was it not a bird, a flame, and sometimes only a breath? Perhaps it is its light that at night over swamps, its breath that propels the clouds, its voice that renders church-bells . And Felicite worshipped , while enjoying the coolness and the stillness of the church.
 
As for the dogma, she could not understand it and did not even try. The priest , the children recited, and she went to sleep, only to with a start when they were leaving the church and their wooden shoes on the stone pavement.
 
In this way, she learned her catechism, her religious education having been neglected in her youth; and thenceforth she imitated all Virginia’s religious practices, fasted when she did, and went to with her. At the Corpus-Christi Day they both decorated an altar.
 
She worried in advance over Virginia’s first communion. She fussed about the shoes, the rosary, the book and the gloves. With what nervousness she helped the mother dress the child!
 
During the entire ceremony, she felt . Monsieur Bourais hid part of the choir from view, but directly in front of her, the flock of , wearing white wreaths over their lowered veils, formed a snow-white field, and she recognised her darling by the slenderness of her neck and her attitude. The bell . All the heads and there was a silence. Then, at the of the organ the singers and the worshippers struck up the Agnes Dei; the boys’ procession began; behind them came the girls. With clasped hands, they advanced step by step to the lighted altar, knelt at the first step, received one by one the Host, and returned to their seats in the same order. When Virginia’s turn came, Felicite leaned forward to watch her, and through that imagination which springs from true affection, she at once became the child, whose face and dress became hers, whose heart beat in her , and when Virginia opened her mouth and closed her lids, she did likewise and came very near fainting.
 
The following day, she presented herself early at the church so as to receive communion from the cure. She took it with the proper feeling, but did not experience the same delight as on the previous day.
 
Madame Aubain wished to make an girl of her daughter; and as Guyot could not teach English or music, she to send her to the Ursulines at Honfleur.
 
The child made no objection, but Felicite sighed and thought Madame was heartless. Then, she thought that perhaps her mistress was right, as these things were beyond her sphere. Finally, one day, an old fiacre stopped in front of the door and a stepped out. Felicite put Virginia’s luggage on top of the carriage, gave the coachman some instructions, and six jars of jam, a dozen pears and a bunch of violets under the seat.
 
At the last minute, Virginia had a fit of ; she embraced her mother again and again, while the latter kissed her on the forehead, and said: “Now, be brave, be brave!” The step was pulled up and the fiacre off.
 
Then Madame Aubain had a fainting spell, and that evening all her friends, including the two Lormeaus, Madame Lechaptois, the ladies Rochefeuille, Messieurs de Houppeville and Bourais, called on her and tendered their sympathy.
 
At first the separation proved very painful to her. But her daughter wrote her three times a week and the other days she, herself, wrote to Virginia. Then she walked in the garden, read a little, and in this way managed to fill out the emptiness of the hours.
 
Each morning, out of habit, Felicite entered Virginia’s room and gazed at the walls. She missed combing her hair, lacing her shoes, tucking her in her bed, and the bright face and little hand when they used to go out for a walk. In order to occupy herself she tried to make lace. But her clumsy fingers broke the threads; she had no heart for anything, lost her sleep and “wasted away,” as she put it.
 
In order to have some , she asked leave to receive the visits of her nephew Victor.
 
He would come on Sunday, after church, with ruddy cheeks and bared chest, bringing with him the of the country. She would set the table and they would sit down opposite each other, and eat their dinner; she ate as little as possible, herself, to avoid any extra expense, but would stuff him so with food that he would finally go to sleep. At the first stroke of vespers, she would wake him up, brush his trousers, tie his and walk to church with him, leaning on his arm with pride.
 
His parents always told him to get something out of her, either a package of brown sugar, or soap, or brandy, and sometimes even money. He brought her his clothes to mend, and she accepted the task gladly, because it meant another visit from him.
 
In August, his father took him on a coasting-.
 
It was vacation time and the arrival of the children consoled Felicite. But Paul was capricious, and Virginia was growing too old to be thee-and-thou’d, a fact which seemed to produce a sort of in their relations.
 
Victor went successively to Morlaix, to Dunkirk, and to Brighton; whenever he returned from a trip he would bring her a present. The first time it was a box of shells; the second, a coffee-cup; the third, a big doll of ginger-bread. He was growing handsome, had a good figure, a tiny moustache, kind eyes, and a little leather cap that sat on the back of his head. He amused his aunt by telling her stories with expressions.
 
One Monday, the 14th of July, 1819 (she never forgot the date), Victor announced that he had been engaged on a merchant-vessel and that in two days he would take the steamer at Honfleur and join his sailer, which was going to start from Havre very soon. Perhaps he might be away two years.
 
The of his departure filled Felicite with despair, and in order to bid him farewell, on Wednesday night, after Madame’s dinner, she put on her pattens and the four miles that separated Pont-l’Eveque from Honfleur.
 
When she reached the Calvary, instead of turning to the right, she turned to the left and lost herself in coal-yards; she had to her steps; some people she to advised her to hasten. She walked helplessly around the harbour filled with , and knocked against . Presently the ground sloped , lights flitted to and fro, and she thought all at once that she had gone mad when she saw some horses in the sky.
 
Others, on the edge of the dock, neighed at the sight of the ocean. A derrick pulled them up in the air, and dumped them into a boat, where passengers were about among barrels of cider, baskets of cheese and bags of meal; chickens cackled, the captain swore and a cabin-boy rested on the railing, indifferent to his surroundings. Felicite, who did not recognise him, kept shouting: “Victor!” He suddenly raised his eyes, but while she was preparing to rush up to him, they withdrew the gangplank.
 
The packet, towed by singing women, out of the harbour. Her and the heavy waves beat up against her sides. The sail had turned and nobody was visible;—and on the ocean, silvered by the light of the moon, the vessel formed a black spot that grew dimmer and dimmer, and finally disappeared.
 
When Felicite passed the Calvary again, she felt as if she must that which was dearest to her to the Lord; and for a long while she prayed, with uplifted eyes and a face wet with tears. The city was sleeping; some customs officials were taking the air; and the water kept pouring through the holes of the dam with a roar. The town clock struck two.
 
The parlour of the convent would not open until morning, and surely a delay would annoy Madame, so, in spite of her desire to see the other child, she went home. The maids of the inn were just arising when she reached Pont-l’Eveque.
 
So the poor boy would be on the ocean for months! His previous trips had not alarmed her. One can come back from England and Brittany; but America, the colonies, the islands, were all lost in an uncertain region at the very end of the world.
 
From that time on, Felicite thought of her nephew. On warm days she feared he would suffer from thirst, and when it stormed, she was afraid he would be struck by lightning. When she harkened to the wind that in the chimney and dislodged the tiles on the roof, she imagined that he was being by the same storm, perched on top of a shattered mast, with his whole body bend backward and covered with sea-foam; or,—these were recollections of the geography—he was being by , or captured in a forest by apes, or dying on some lonely coast. She never mentioned her anxieties, however.
 
Madame Aubain worried about her daughter.
 
The sisters thought that Virginia was affectionate but delicate. The slightest emotion her. She had to give up her piano lessons. Her mother insisted upon regular letters from the convent. One morning, when the postman failed to come, she grew impatient and began to pace to and fro, from her chair to the window. It was really extraordinary! No news since four days!
 
In order to console her mistress by her own example, Felicite said:
 
“Why, Madame, I haven’t had any news since six months!—”
 
“From whom?—”
 
The servant replied gently:
 
“Why—from my nephew.”
 
“Oh, yes, your nephew!” And shrugging her shoulders, Madame Aubain continued to pace the floor as if to say: “I did not think of it.—Besides, I do not care, a cabin-boy, a !—but my daughter—what a difference! just think of it!—”
 
Felicite, although she had been reared roughly, was very indignant. Then she forgot about it.
 
It appeared quite natural to her that one should lose one’s head about Virginia.
 
The two children were of equal importance; they were united in her heart and their fate was to be the same.
 
The chemist informed her that Victor’s vessel had reached Havana. He had read the information in a newspaper.
 
Felicite imagined that Havana was a place where people did nothing but smoke, and that Victor walked around among negroes in a cloud of tobacco. Could a person, in case of need, return by land? How far was it from Pont-l’Eveque? In order to learn these things, she questioned Monsieur Bourais. He reached for his map and began some explanations concerning , and smiled with superiority at Felicite’s bewilderment. At last, he took a pencil and out an imperceptible black point in the scallops of an oval , adding: “There it is.” She bent over the map; the of coloured lines hurt her eyes without enlightening her; and when Bourais asked her what puzzled her, she requested him to show her the house Victor lived in. Bourais threw up his hands, sneezed, and then laughed uproariously; such ignorance delighted his soul; but Felicite failed to understand the cause of his mirth, she whose intelligence was so limited that she perhaps expected to see even the picture of her nephew!
 
It was two weeks later that Liebard came into the kitchen at market-time, and handed her a letter from her brother-in-law. As neither of them could read, she called upon her mistress.
 
Madame Aubain, who was counting the stitches of her knitting, laid her work down beside her, opened the letter, started, and in a low tone and with a searching look said: “They tell you of a—misfortune. Your nephew—”
 
He had died. The letter told nothing more.
 
Felicite dropped on a chair, leaned her head against the back, and closed her lids; pr............