hurt myself so much in wrenching myself free that I hated still more fiercely the wicked king who condemned men to death while he prayed. O the horrid monster! Then at three came the great procession. First went the six bishops, mitered and carrying their croziers; then followed the children of the _noblesse_, we among them, all in white, with white wreaths on our heads; then all the vast multitude, twenty or thirty abreast, singing canticles, a stupendous sight and sound, all marching round the plain, from altar to altar, under the burning sun. I remember little after that. The Marquis de Ploeuc was there, his hair tied in the _catogan_, and wearing his black silk suit: I think he must have lunched with us at the curé's. It was arranged that he and his two eldest daughters were to drive back to Loch-ar-Brugg with _maman_ and spend some days with us, and so, though I must have been very tired, I was to ride back beside papa on my pony, which had been duly blessed. It was already night when we started, and what a wonderful ride it was! I remember no fatigue. I still wore my white dress, and _maman_ swathed my head and shoulders in a white lace shawl, and all the way back to Loch-ar-Brugg papa told me stories of hunts, of fairies, of saints, and of escaped convicts. Every group of trees, every rock, every turning in the road, had its legend or its adventure. CHAPTER XI BONNE MAMAN'S DEATH We were at Quimper when _bonne maman_ died. She had been failing for some time, and her character, until then so gentle, had altered. Mere trifles disquieted her, and she became fretful, alarmed, and even impatient. She seemed so little in her big bed, and, when I wanted to climb up beside her, after my wont, she signed to Jeannie to take me away and said that it tired her too much to see children and that the air of a sick-room was not good for them. "Tell my daughter--tell her. They must not come!" she repeated several times in a strange, shrill voice. I slid down from the bed, I remember, abashed and disconcerted, and while I longed to see my dear _bonne maman_ as I had known her, I was afraid of this changed _bonne maman_; and it hurt me more for her than for myself that she should be so changed. But one day when _maman_ was in the room, she caught sight of me hanging about furtively in the passage, and called out gently to me to go away, that _bonne maman_ was tired and was going to sleep. Then a poor little voice, no longer shrill, very trembling, came from the bed, saying: "Let her come, Eliane. It will not hurt me. I want to see her for a moment." I approached the bed, walking on tiptoe; the curtains were drawn to shade _bonne maman_ from the sunlight, and I softly came and stood within them. O my poor _bonne maman_! I could hardly recognize her. She seemed old--old and shrunken, and her eyes no longer smiled. She looked at me so fixedly that I was frightened, and she said to _maman_: