“No, no,” said the old man. “Don’t attempt to make excuses for me. Your father and mother are dead, Jean. It was my business to replace them as well as I could. Everyone has his obligations. If it is not towards his family, it is towards his neighbor. While I was watering my plants, you were growing up in my house, and I never even noticed it I am only too happy to give you these roses for her whom you have chosen. My life is changed from now on. I have thought more in a few hours than during the last twenty years. In the future, Jean, count on me. I want to help your young household. I have spent my little fortune vainly on my rose-bushes instead of thinking of your welfare.” “We won’t think about that,” broke in the young man, now overwhelmed with emotion. “On the contrary, we will think about it,” said his uncle. “Late in the day I am going to be of some use. The autumn roses are often the finest.” Jean took him in his arms. “I love you, my dear uncle.” “To-morrow you will take those bouquets to Le Maupas.” “We will divide them in two lots, if you agree,” said Jean. “We will put one on my parents’ grave and we will offer the other to Paule.” “Yes,” agreed the old man, and repeated without knowing it the very words of the younger when he came back from Africa. “We must honor the dead but have faith in life.” Thus the rose-lover found peace of mind in the ruin of his garden. CHAPTER X NIOBE’S LAST CHILD On a dark morning in December a few women slipped like shadows through the snow which deadened their footsteps, to Saint-Real and Metropole Streets, which lead to the Cathedral at Chambéry. As one entered the church the half-open door showed the flickering rays of the lamp running along the dark arches. Toward this trembling lamp they hurried, in spite of the cold and the darkness, as though they had come to beg light and warmth from it. Humble housewives, shop-girls, workwomen, servants, they rose early before their work and hastened to the first Mass as though to some secret meeting-place. They came one by one, sometimes recognizing one another in the porch. Already filled with respect for the sanctity of the place, they spoke in low voices. They all joined together in a group constantly growing more and more compact in one of the side chapels, where two candles, which a choir boy was lighting, showed the place of the holy sacrifice. Walking slowly and carefully on account of the frost on the pavement, Madame Guibert allowed herself to be outdistanced by some of the more active women. Nevertheless she was one of the first to enter. She had never forgotten her old habit, always to be ahead of time. She knelt a little to the side and isolated herself in prayer. She had great need of divine help, and begged for it with her whole soul. That very day she was to know the bitterness of being alone. The moment had come for Niobe to give