"Lift her up on the bed. I want to kiss her." She took my hand then, and looked at my little finger as she always used to do, and said: "I see that you have been very good with your mother, but that you don't obey your nurse. You must always be obedient. You understand me, don't you, Sophie? Do you say your prayers?" "Yes, _bonne maman_," I answered. "Have you said them this morning?" "No, _bonne maman_." "Say them now." I made the sign of the cross and said the following prayer, which I repeated morning and evening every day, and with slightly altered nomenclature, my children and grandchildren have repeated, as I did, until the age of reason: "_Mon Dieu_, bless me and bless and preserve _grand-père_, _bonne maman_, _maman_, _papa_, my sisters, my brother, Tiny" [this was my little dog], "Ghislaine, France, Kerandraon, all my family, and make me very good. Amen." When I had finished, _bonne maman_ drew me gently to her, pressed me in her arms, and kissed me on my eyes. [Illustration: Paul] After this, for how many days I do not remember, everything became very still in the house. The servants whispered when they had to speak, and the older people, when they met us, told us gently to go into the garden and to be very quiet. We did not see _maman_ or _papa_ at all. My _tante_ de Laisieu was with us, and dear France. _Bon papa_ arrived from Paris. One morning was very sunny and beautiful, and as I played with Eliane in the garden I forgot the oppression that weighed upon us and began to sing to her a Breton song which Jeannie had taught me. These were the words: Le Roy vient demain au château, "Ecoute moi bien, ma Fleurette, Tu regarderas bien son aigrette!" "Je regarderai," dit Fleurette, "Pour bien reconnaître le Roy! Mes yeux ne verront que toi, Et mon coeur n'aimera que toi." While I sang I looked up at _bonne maman's_ window, for I knew how fond she was of hearing me. The window was shut, and this was unusual; so I sang the louder, that she should hear me, of _Fleurette_ and _le Roy_. Then France and one of the servants came running out of the house, and I saw that both had been crying, and France put his arm about me while the servant said, "Mademoiselle must not sing." And France whispered: "You will wake _bonne maman_. Go into the orchard, dear Sophie. There you will not be heard." In the evening papa came for us in the nursery, and I saw that he, too, had been crying. I had never before seen tears in his dear eyes. He took us up to _maman's_ room. All the blinds were drawn down, but I could see her lying on her bed, in her white woolen _peignoir_, her arms crossed behind her head, her black jet rosary lying along the sheet beside her. We kissed her, one after the other, and I saw the great tears rolling down her cheeks. "_Maman_--is _bonne maman_ very ill?" I whispered. I felt that something terrible had happened to us all.