At last we went up to bed. The rooms were all en suite, and I had
given her one opening into mine, telling her we would never shut the
door save when she wished it. I saw her gazing earnestly at her
brother's portrait and all the precious little objects consecrated to
his memory, which I had arranged by my benitier and crucifix, but I
did not expect her firs exclamation, when our woman had left us: 'Ah!
Madame, how happy you are!'

'I was once!' I sighed.

'Ah! but you ARE happy. You have your child, and your husband loved
you.'

'But your husband lives, and your children are well.'

'That may be. I never see them. I have only seen my daughter twice,
and my son once, since they were born. They will not let them come
to the chateau, and they say there is no road to the farms.'

'We will see to that,' I said, and I made her tell me where they
were; but she knew no more of distances than I did, never going
anywhere save in the great family coach. Poor child! When I called
her Cecile, she burst into tears, and said no one had called her by
that name since she had left her friend Amelie in the convent, and as
to calling me Marguerite, Mademoiselle de Gringrimeau would be sure
to say it was bourgeois and ill-bred to use familiar names, but then
we need never let her hear us.

I took the poor little forlorn creature to sleep with me, and then,