Elizabeth's thoughts flew naturally to Albert, who would have been so amused at this remark. It was the artless criticism, so flattering to an historian, of so many travelers, who go around the world, seeing nothing but outward appearances, knowing of nothing but more or less picturesque forms. As to Philippe, he liked best the devil who builds walls and who is paid in monkey's money. Now that the library was in use again, the young woman made a habit of rummaging among the books. After attending to the needs of her children, she busied herself with her own. She reread certain of her husband's works, which she had previously scanned hastily, merely from a sense of duty, and now found great pleasure in them. Then she read; biographies for preference, or memoirs which, because of their direct contact with life, suited her nature, more realistic than imaginative. Little by little, without being conscious of the slow metamorphosis which was taking place within her, she came to a better understanding of the human imprint of ancient civilization in our own country, and the importance of the past, of great men, of monuments and of works of art. By a strange conversion, she found herself acquiring her husband's tastes when she was separated from him--no doubt forever. The influence of intellectual activity which he had never exercised over her in eight years of married life, was now being felt from a distance, and he would never know anything of it. Better prepared for conversation, having reinforced her thoughts by new excursions into the world, it happened in the evening that the usual hour of bed-time passed, as she was talking to her mother-in-law--whose cultivated mind she at last understood--of subjects which formerly would not have interested her for a moment. Then glancing at the clock, one of them remarked: "How late it is!" And Elizabeth, tired out, soon fell asleep, instead of more freely and sorrowfully reviewing her troubles in the darkness of night, as she had for a long time been in the habit of doing. Among the elements of instruction which the two women, assisting each other, gave to the children, she had reserved music for herself, in which she tried to cultivate their taste by singing simple popular airs, which she made them repeat. The house, on certain days, was filled with song and the village children stopped in front of the gate to listen. Little Philippe threw his big bell-like voice into the music like a ball into a game of nine pins, and the notes came out with great force. His sister used to be annoyed at this, but the dispute always ended in shouts of laughter. This gayety seemed to an old peasant, Claude Terraz, who was passing down the road in his cart, to be a good sign, and seeing through the railings Mme. Derize, Sr., working in her garden, he allowed himself, by the established rights of a neighbor, to inquire: "Well, Madame, has M. Albert come home?" "Not yet, Claude." "But he will come back?"