Franchita is alone at home, ill and in bed, at the end of a November day.—And it is the third autumn since her son's departure.  
In her hands, burning with fever, she holds a letter from him, a letter which should have brought only joy without a cloud, since it announces his return, but which causes in her, on the contrary, tormented¹ sentiments, for the happiness of seeing him again is poisoned now by sadness, by worry especially, by frightful² worry—
 
Oh, she had an exact presentiment³ of the sombre future, that night when, returning from escorting him on the road to departure, she returned to her house with so much anguish⁴, after that sort of defiance⁵ hurled⁶ at Dolores on the street: it was cruelly true that she had broken then forever her son's life—!
 
Months of waiting and of apparent calm had followed that scene, while Ramuntcho, far from his native land, was beginning his military service. Then, one day, a wealthy suitor had presented himself for Gracieuse and she, to the entire village's knowledge, had rejected him obstinately⁷ in spite of Dolores's will. Then, they had suddenly gone away, the mother and the daughter, pretexting a visit to relatives in the highland⁸; but the voyage had been prolonged; a mystery more and more singular had enveloped⁹ this absence,—and suddenly the rumor¹⁰ had come that Gracieuse was a novice¹¹ among the sisters of Saint Mary of the Rosary, in a convent of Gascony where the former Mother Superior of Etchezar was the abbess—!
 
Dolores had reappeared alone in her home, mute, with ............