upon each other in our weariness. 'Ma mère,' she said, 'where is he now,
our Martin?' and wept. 'He is where there is the most to do, be thou
sure of that,' I cried, but wept not. For what did I bring him into the
world but for this end?

Were I to go day by day and hour by hour over that time of trouble, the
story would not please any one. Many were brave and forgot their own
sorrows to occupy themselves with those of others, but many also were
not brave. There were those among us who murmured and complained. Some
would contend with us to let them go and call their husbands, and leave
the miserable country where such things could happen. Some would rave
against the priests and the government, and some against those who
neglected and offended the Holy Church. Among them there were those who
did not hesitate to say it was our fault, though how we were answerable
they could not tell. We were never at any time of the day or night
without a sound of some one weeping or bewailing herself, as if she were
the only sufferer, or crying out against those who had brought her here,
far from all her friends. By times it seemed to me that I could bear it
no longer, that it was but justice to turn those murmurers
_(pleureuses)_ away, and let them try what better they could do for
themselves. But in this point Madame Martin surpassed me. I do not
grudge to say it. She was better than I was, for she was more patient.
She wept with the weeping women, then dried her eyes and smiled upon
them without a thought of anger--whereas I could have turned them to the
door. One thing, however, which I could not away with, was that Agnès
filled her own chamber with the poorest of the poor. 'How,' I cried,
thyself and thy friend Madame de Bois-Sombre, were you not enough to
fill it, that you should throw open that chamber to good-for-nothings,
to _va-nu-pieds_, to the very rabble?' '_Ma mère,'_ said Madame Martin,
'our good Lord died for them.' 'And surely for thee too, thou