“Paule, she is setting us a splendid example of heroism and self-sacrifice. May we never forget it! And if later on, in many years to come, we have occasion to imitate her may her memory still be present with us. Oh, may the child who is coming to us be like her!” Paule was listening to him more calmly, and he added: “May God protect both our child and her whom we have left behind with a broken heart!” “Yes, I will pray,” she said. “It was God who gave my mother the resignation that she tried to implant in me.” In her young life, she had known many hours of anguish and mourning; but she had never known a more painful one than this. She thought she tasted the bitterness of death, yet in reality her life was stirring to its inmost depths. Her love was purified, all unknown to her, in that divine flame of maternal sacrifice of which she was more and more to appreciate the value. As the railway passed in front of the oak wood which is neighbor to Le Maupas, Jean and Paule looked at the familiar landscape through the window. The tree-branches bore snowflakes for leaves, their whiteness tinted by the setting sun. On the vine-row hung a lacework of frost. Here it was, and here alone, that Paule had learned to know life, death, and love. She thought of the proud, passionate, young girl, whose boast was the care with which she watched over her mother. “Kiss me,” she cried to her husband. “I have so much need of love to be able to go away from here!” Jean took her in his arms. And the kiss they gave each other spread a sacred thrill through their veins; for to that union of their body and soul they added the filial devotion of the past and that mysterious hope for the future which made their lives so much fuller and gave an immortal meaning to their love. CHAPTER XI PEACE Madame Guibert rose with difficulty from the bench on which she had seated herself to weep. She saw a few strangers passing hurriedly and wished to hide her sorrow. “I cannot stay here any longer,” she thought When she stood up she had to hold on to the wall and she wondered if she would have the strength to reach the house. She felt her age and her weakness hanging like heavy weights on her shoulders. She remembered the day when she dragged herself through the endless chestnut avenue at La Chênaie. On the threshold of the station she thought anxiously of the long road home. But accustomed as she was to spend nothing on herself she did not dream of hiring one of the cabs in the Square. She set out slowly, leaning on the umbrella which served her as a stick and putting her feet down carefully so as not to slip on the snow. The hardships of her journey made her forget her sorrow, but when she stopped a moment she whispered gently the name of Paule--of Paule who would never, never be her help again. Her mind was following the two dear ones who were carrying away with them all her happiness.