Marianne, who was still smiling at the ever-motionless girls in the closed brougham, changed the subject. "How tall they have grown, how pretty they have become! Your Andrée looks adorable. How old is your Lucie now? She will soon be of an age to marry." "Oh! don't let her hear you," retorted Valentine; "you would make her burst into tears! She is seventeen, but for sense she isn't twelve. Would you believe it, she began sobbing this morning and refusing to go to the wedding, under the pretence that it would make her ill? She is always talking of convents; we shall have to come to a decision about her. Andrée, though she is only thirteen, is already much more womanly. But she is a little stupid, just like a sheep. Her gentleness quite upsets me at times; it jars on my nerves." Then Valentine, on the point of getting into her carriage, turned to shake hands with Marianne, and thought of inquiring after her health. "Really," said she, "I lose my head at times. I was quite forgetting. And the baby you're expecting will be your eleventh child, will it now? How terrible! Still it succeeds with you. And, ah! those poor people whom you are going to see, their house will be quite empty now." When the brougham had rolled away it occurred to Mathieu and Marianne that before seeing the Beauchênes it might be advisable for them to call at the little pavilion, where their son or their daughter-in-law might be able to give them some useful information. But neither Blaise nor Charlotte was there. They found only a servant who was watching over the little girl, Berthe. This servant declared that she had not seen Monsieur Blaise since the previous day, for he had remained at the Beauchênes' near the body. And as for Madame, she also had gone there early that morning, and had left instructions that Berthe was to be brought to her at noon, in order that she might not have to come back to give her the breast. Then, as Marianne in surprise began to put some questions, the girl explained matters: "Madame took a box of drawing materials with her. I fancy that she is painting a portrait of the poor young man who is dead."