This was her name for me. Mme. Guérard then told her, as gently as possible, the sad news. The old woman took off her spectacles, looked at Mme. Guérard, wiped them and put them on her nose again. She then began to grumble violently about her son, the father of the dead boy. He had taken up with some low girl, by whom he had had this child, and she had always foreseen that misfortune would come upon them through it. She continued in this strain, not sorrowing for the poor boy, but abusing her son, who was a soldier in the Army of the Loire. Although the grandmother seemed to feel so little grief, I went to see her after the funeral. “It is all over, Mme. Durieux,” I said, “but I have secured the grave for a period of five years for the poor boy.” She turned toward me, quite comic in her vexation. “What madness!” she exclaimed; “now that he’s with the _bon Dieu_ he won’t want for anything. It would have been better to have taken a bit of land that would have brought something in. Dead folks don’t make vegetables grow.” This outburst was so terribly logical that, in spite of the odious brutality of it, I yielded to _Mère Tricottin’s_ desire, and gave her the same present I had given to the boy. They should each have their bit of land, the child who had had a right to a longer life should sleep his eternal sleep in his, while the old woman could wrest from hers what fruits she might. I returned to the _ambulance_ sad and unnerved. A joyful surprise was awaiting me. A friend of mine was there, holding in his hand a very small piece of tissue paper, on which were the following two lines in my mother’s handwriting: “We are all very well and at Hombourg.” I was furious on reading this. At Hombourg! All my family at Hombourg, settling down tranquilly in the enemy’s country! I racked my brains to think by what extraordinary combination my mother had gone to Hombourg. I knew that my pretty Aunt Rosine had a friend there, with whom she stayed every year, for she always went for two months to Hombourg, two months to Baden-Baden, and a month to Spa, as she was the greatest gambler that the _bon Dieu_ ever created. Anyhow, those who were so dear to me were all well, and that was the principal thing. But I was nevertheless annoyed with my mother for going to Hombourg. I heartily thanked the friend who had brought me the little slip of paper. It was sent to me by the American Minister, who had put himself to no end of trouble in order to give help and consolation to the Parisians. I then gave him a few lines for my mother, in case he should be able to send them to her.