He laughed, he stared insolently at her, a little disturbed by the type of beauty he saw, which impressed him in spite of himself. Speechless, she was obliged to stop, and her mouth twisted itself without making a sound. At last she recovered herself and cried: "Go away!" Her frightened face, her terrified eyes more than her words, put the blackguard to flight. She dragged herself to her staircase, her limbs giving way under her. This last insult completed her humiliation. She fell into the deepest despair. She, in turn, envied the dead. "It is over," she said to herself, "all over forever." Reaching her room like an animal forced to its lair, crushed by so many nights of watching and fatigue, by the uselessness of so many efforts, rebelling against God's forgetfulness, she slid to the floor at the foot of her bed, and there, collapsing, huddled up, through her sobs, she mechanically repeated the words which alone kept her from wishing for death, which, in spite of herself, linked her with life. "Marie Louise, Philippe--my little ones ..." PART IV I THE PALMS At the end of March, in the mountainous districts, winter still holds sway. However, on Palm Sunday under a faint sun which gave to the pale sky the shade of a pearl in the light, Grenoble seemed to come to life again on its snowy horizon. Before the gate of the Cathedral, flower vendors, who had come from afar, even from beyond the Alps, as the harbingers of spring, showed and offered to the faithful who came to Mass, their bunches of green branches,--a little dead forest, scattered among the passersby, to be brought together again in the interior of the church, standing up bravely in the hands of all the worshipers. In anticipation they cried: "Two sous for the blessed box-wood!" Was it not a blessing in itself only to see that fresh verdure before the trees had even shown their buds? Elizabeth, who was taking Marie Louise and Philippe to church (the latter having promised to be good during the service)--stopped before one of the improvised stands to select three palms. Absentmindedly, she gave more sous than the ragged little brunette had asked for. "Here, Madame,--you have given me too much." "Keep the change. Where do you come from?" "From Bardonèche in Italy." "What is your name?" "Luisa." "And where are your parents?" "They are very far from here." Marie Louise, who was clasping in her left hand a piece of money for the collection, held it out to the stranger, who took it without noticing her, as she stared open-mouthed at the young woman. "And me? You didn't say thank you to me," said the child, vexed that her generosity should go unnoticed. Luisa burst out laughing. Despite her innocent eyes she was very knowing, and in her enthusiasm, speaking again in her native tongue, she pointed to the object of her admiration: "_E bella come la Madona_!" (She is as lovely as the Madonna!)