At these first words expressed with less indifference, inspired by gratitude and decorum, Elizabeth felt she could no longer play her part. Tears and her weakness overcame her, but she gazed mechanically on the pillow, at the face so peaceful and serene, and took sudden comfort from it. "I have caused her a great deal of sorrow," added Albert, making this confession almost in spite of himself, in response to what he had just heard. Elizabeth had the strength to reply. "She had confidence in you." What did she mean by that? As he tried to interpret it, realizing that this tête-à-tête could not last much longer, she added: "Come with me." He followed her out of the room. She led him into the dining-room where Fanchette had laid a place for him. "You must have some breakfast and warm yourself. It is very cold to-day. I am going back to the children. My friend Blanche Vernier has taken them to her house. I dare not bring them here. They are so little!" "Marie Louise, Philippe," he said slowly, with a tenderness which made him tremble. "But you can see them there, or at the home of my parents, or at Philippe Lagier's, as you like." "At Philippe's." "Very well. He is coming back. You can arrange with him." She alone spoke, her mouth drawn, her face tense with the effort. He could only answer her. Philippe Lagier, faithful to his promise, came to relieve their embarrassment. As soon as he arrived, while he was trying, not without a painful acknowledgment, to understand their reciprocal emotions, and while Albert, suffering from hunger, could not make up his mind to eat, Elizabeth dressed herself to go out. "Our friend," she said, turning towards her husband, "wishes to make all the arrangements. The funeral is the day after to-morrow. I shall be here. Au revoir." The two men watched her as she was leaving, but did not mention her then. She went back into the death chamber, before she left the flat. "Mother," she entreated, on her knees. This cry expressed all the emotion she had felt, but had suppressed, on seeing her husband again; all the torture of love renewed by his actual presence. For the second time, the peace of death calmed her heart. In the afternoon Albert saw his children at Philippe Lagier's. At first, in kissing them, in comparing them with the past--(on the road at Saint Martin d'Uriage he had held them for only a moment in his arms) he experienced a sad joy which in his sorrowful condition pained him exceedingly, making him almost feverish. They surprised him by telling him the story of Mélusine and that of Lesdiguières. "Who has told you these stories?" "Mamma."