No more misadventures, no more storms, no more misfortunes; tranquil days had dawned at last for the family at Villeneuve-Saint-Georges. Adeline’s unhappiness had become a gentle melancholy, which the graces and caresses of her daughter beguiled and made endurable. Little Ermance grew and improved; her features became sweet and attractive; her voice was as soft as her mother’s, and her sensitive and kindly heart never turned away the unfortunate. Jacques, proud of his niece, had lost a little of his brusque manner since he had lived in the bosom of his family. Sans-Souci still swore, and would have thrown himself into the fire for any of his friends. Old Gerval was made doubly happy at the sight of the good that he himself did, and that Jacques did. In short, one and all enjoyed a peaceable life, and the people at the farm were often visited by their friends from the village. A single thing marred Sans-Souci’s happiness; it was that Jacques no longer wore the decoration that he had won on the battle-field. “Why don’t you wear it any more?” he would say to him, when they were alone; “what can prevent you? Morbleu! you act like a fool with your resolutions.” “My brother disgraced our name.” “Well! was it to you or your name that they gave the cross?” “It’s out of respect for that honorable reward, that I deprive myself of the pleasure of wearing it.” “But when you go by the name of Jacques simply----” “That doesn’t matter; I know none the less that Edouard was a--Why, I tell you, that ghastly thought would make me blush for that symbol of honor; I shall never wear it again.” “You are wrong.” “That may be; I am and I shall always be a man of honor; but I have no pride left when I think of my brother’s shame.” The tranquillity enjoyed by the family at Villeneuve-Saint-Georges was disturbed by a melancholy event which they still believed to be far away: honest Gerval fell sick and died, and the zealous care of all those who surrounded him was unavailing to save him. “My children,” he said to them in his last moments, “I am sorry to leave you, but at all events my mind is at rest concerning your future. I hoped to live longer among you, but fate wills otherwise and I must submit. Think of me, but don’t weep.” The old man left his whole fortune to Jacques and Adeline. He had thirty thousand francs a year, a large part of which was used in assisting the unfortunate. Old Catherine survived her master only a few months, and those two events caused deep sadness among the occupants of Jacques’s house for a long while. But time is always successful in calming the bitterest regrets; it triumphs over everything; it is the Lethe wherein the memories of our troubles and our pleasures alike are drowned. Years passed. Ermance was nine years old; she was Jacques’s delight, and her mother’s consolation. In order not to part with her, they caused teachers to come to the village to begin her education.