“Oh, it isn’t serious, Mother dear. You must not worry. Perhaps I took a slight chill waiting for you on the balcony. I will go to bed directly after supper.” And to calm the motherly fears she had the courage to repeat laughingly: “It is nothing at all, Mother, I assure you.” She was thinking that the dining-room lamp would show her face too clearly and suggested: “Suppose we have our supper here before the fire! This room is more comfortable.” “But the table is laid already.” “It can soon be changed. You will see.” “Very well, dear. You are icy cold. And in Trélaz’s open carriage one is exposed to the worst of the weather.” As her daughter went out, after having poured out a few spoonfuls of rum into the glass, she added: “Tell Marie to take down one or two bottles of wine to Trélaz. He deserves them.” According to the old Savoy custom, the farmer’s family lived in the basement of the house. Paule had just finished clearing the table in the dining-room when the servant came back with a terrified face. “Miss Paule, poor Miss Paule! What is this I hear?” The girl looked her full in the face. “M. Marcel!” continued Marie. “Oh!” cried Paule in a hoarse voice, “be quiet! We will tell my mother to-morrow. It is soon enough.” Old Marie checked her tears. “It was Baron who told them downstairs. They knew about it in the village. Madame must not be told. It would give her such a shock! She must be prepared.” And admiring her young mistress’s strength, she said: “You are brave, that you are! You are like _him_!” With an unsteady hand she waited at the table, her red eyes hidden by her spectacles. “Marie is following my example,” said Madame Guibert. “She is ageing.” And she tried in vain to brighten the conversation. “You have eaten nothing, Paule. You are ill. Do go to bed. I will warm it for you and make you some tea. It is my turn to look after you.” “No, thank you. I really don’t want anything. Marie will give me a hot bottle. And you must go to bed early too. Good night, Mamma, dear little Mamma!” She kissed her mother passionately and went into her room. She was quite exhausted and her courage was gone. She tore off her clothes, unfastened her long hair with a single movement, blew out her candle, and winding herself in her blankets gave way madly to the grief which she had kept back so long. In the darkness her mood changed by turns from despair to revolt, from revolt to resignation and at last to submission and deep pity. She mourned for her brother, for her mother, and for herself. Turned to the wall and lost in her misery, her face hidden in her handkerchief, she forgot that time was passing and did not hear her mother come to bed.