When everything was prepared, the collections made, the invitations sent out, Mademoiselle de Songeon and Madame Dulaurens were officially delegated to go to Le Maupas to ask the family’s permission. Madame de Marthenay accompanied her mother. She wished to present her condolences to Madame Guibert and to Paule, and had not dared to make the journey alone. It was the beginning of March. The snow was melting in the desolate, muddy fields and in the sunken roads. Under the lowering sky, surrounded by black, bare trees swaying sadly to and fro, the old country house wore a melancholy and abandoned air. “I should hate to be buried alive here all the year round,” said Madame Dulaurens to Mademoiselle de Songeon as the carriage drove up the deserted avenue. “The Church is too far away,” answered the pious old maid. She did not think that God is everywhere. In spite of her age, she persisted in travelling to meet Him in specially comfortable places. Old Marie, seeing the carriage, did not refuse to allow the ladies to enter, despite her strict orders. She ran to announce the visitors as fast as her legs could carry her. “I ordered you not to receive anyone,” said Madame Guibert sadly. And turning to Paule she said: “I have no longer the courage to face people. Why does Madame Dulaurens come to disturb our sorrow? We have nothing in common. What does she want?” “Mother dear, I don’t know,” said Paule, and she rose to depart. “You will help me to receive her?” “No, Mother, I don’t want to meet her.” Madame Guibert looked at her daughter, whose pale and quivering but decided face clearly showed her thoughts. “Paule,” she entreated, “do not desert me. I am so shy and awkward, you know. The evil that people do is more quickly forgotten than the good. If she reminded me of the past I should not know what to answer. Stay with me, Paule.” The girl hesitated no more and made a sign to the servant to show the ladies in. “I will stay,” she said. Mademoiselle de Songeon, little versed in diplomacy, allowed Madame Dulaurens to speak first. “You have been cruelly afflicted,” began that lady, going towards Madame Guibert, who was obliged to lean against the fireplace in order to rise from her chair. Then she shook hands with Paule, whose unfriendly eyes she felt firmly upon her. She would have preferred her not to be there. “Yes,” said Marcel’s mother. “God is testing us.” Thus at once she gave the interview a religious and serious tone. Mademoiselle de Songeon tossed her head and looked upward, as if she alone had the necessary authority to call upon the divine intervention.