“Without any breakfast?” asked Madame Guibert, thoughtful as ever. “He did not wish any. He just said he would not wait.” “And Madame?” “Madame who? Oh yes, Mademoiselle Paule! I cannot get used to calling her Madame. It’s funny, isn’t it? Mademoiselle is still asleep. There I go again, the same mistake. When one is old, one is good for nothing.” “It can’t be helped, my poor Marie, we are both old.” But both of them, paying little heed to what they were saying, were thinking of the parting to come. The servant, taking off her spectacles, passed her rough hand over her eyes. With her shaking fingers Madame Guibert tried to make Paule’s chocolate for the last time. She made it the way she knew her girl liked it. Then she listened at the door, knocked softly, went in, and found Paule in tears. “Mother, mother! Tell me that I _must_ go. I have not the strength myself to say it.” Madame Guibert put the steaming cup on the bedside table, then she laid her wrinkled hand on her daughter’s forehead. “Dear little one,” she said, “I wanted to wait on you myself this morning, and I ordered these rolls that you like so much.” She bent over her and in a low voice, as she kissed her, murmured: “Be brave, Paule. It is God’s wish. Your husband’s love assures me that you will be happy. And do not be alarmed about me.” But their tears still flowed. Jean came back and saw the two women locked in each other’s arms. He thought that Paule was trying to comfort her mother. “We will come back, Mother,” he said. “We will come back, I swear it. Next year you will have Étienne and his wife and in two years you will see us.” But when Madame Guibert turned to him, he saw with surprise that she was not crying and that the consolations came from her, not Paule. “In two years,” she thought, “where shall I be?” But she answered gravely: “Jean, love your wife dearly. When you are far from me, that thought will be my strength. God is so good and watches over us. We shall be more closely united than ever when we are separated. Our thoughts and our hearts will be one. Distance is nothing when one is sure of love.” With a solemnity that came quite naturally to her and affected her voice quite unconsciously, she went on: “You must love each other. Don’t make of your love a source of weakness. Gather from it and your mutual confidence more resolution, more courage in life. Look ahead of you. When you look behind you, towards our dead and towards me, may it not be to find discouragement there, but to understand your own youth better, and all that God expects from it.” Jean and his wife had taken her hands and were listening to her without interruption. “Yes,” she continued, as if she were unfolding the future, “look before you, towards your work, towards the family that will come after you. Give your sons and daughters brave souls and make them look ahead in their turn, with eyes in which your past will have shaped their outlook.”