A room in which she sobs for hours on end, heedless of all things, huddled in a little chair, or on her knees before a white-curtained bed; people who come and go; a doctor who certifies the cause of death; aneurism of the heart, beyond a doubt; the lady of the house, who tries to comfort her; a commissary of police who puts questions which she is unable to answer and who makes her look in her mother’s trunks for papers that are not there: these are Gilberte’s lasting memories of those two dreadful days. Then came the singing in the church, a long road between bare, wind-stripped trees, the graveyard and the final and irrevocable parting from her who, until now, was all her life, her soul, her light.... Oh, the first night spent in solitude and those first meals taken with no one opposite her and those long interminable days during which she never stopped weeping the big tears that come welling up from the heart as from a spring which nothing can dry up! Alone, knowing nobody, what was she to do? Where could she go? To whom could she turn? “The important thing,” insisted the lady of the house, who sometimes came to see her in her room, “the most important thing is that you should have a solicitor. Mine is prepared to come whenever you please. I spoke to him about you; and it seems that there are formalities. Remember what the commissary said about the papers....” Gilberte remembered nothing, for she had listened to nothing. Nevertheless, the persistency of this advice, repeated daily and with such conviction, ended by persuading her; and, one morning, she sent to ask Maître Dufornéril to be good enough to call on her. Maître Dufornéril had one of those placid and good-natured faces the sight of which seems to soothe you at once. He gave the impression of attaching so much importance to the business in hand that it would have been impossible not to take at least some interest in it one’s self. Gilberte, therefore, was obliged to reflect, to tax her memory, in short, to reply. “From what I have learnt, mademoiselle, it is evident that no papers have been found enabling us to establish your mother’s identity and your own. The commissary, however, told me of an envelope containing securities which he advised you to lock up carefully. Is it still in your possession?” “I don’t know.... Mother never told me.... Is this what you mean?” she asked. The solicitor took two fat, leather portfolios from the mantelpiece and opened them. He was astounded at what he saw: “And do you leave this lying about?... Bonds payable to bearer?” Gilberte blushed, feeling as if she had committed some enormous crime. He counted the sheets, made a rapid addition and said: “You are very well off, mademoiselle.” “Really?” she said, absent-mindedly. “Yes ... mother said something....” After a peace during which he watched her with increasing surprise, he asked: “And have you your mother’s papers, your father’s papers?” “What papers?”