“Even now,” went on Madame Guibert, “even in this hour when my heart is broken, I can only thank God who has heaped His blessing on me. It surprises you, my dear, that I can talk of my happiness to you to-day. It is true nevertheless. I am happy. If God asked me to begin my life all over again, I would do so. And yet, I have seen the dearest faces cold and still, and I have known the cruellest form of death for a mother--that which strikes her child far away. But through my husband, through my sons and daughters, I realised all my heart and what may come upon us by the divine goodness. My life has been quite full, since it was mixed with theirs. Now I am no longer alone. My beloved dead keep me company and the living do not desert me. Look at this telegram I have had from Étienne. He knows that Paule has left me to-day and he is comforting me in the name of them all. I had need of it!” “Madame!” whispered Alice, kissing her hand. “Yes, my dear, I have loved my life, I have loved life itself. And I can die, even alone, even if strange hands close my eyes. God has made my lot a very beautiful one and death will find me obedient and resigned.” Her clear eyes shone with a holy ecstasy. Alice, her heart at peace, looked at her respectfully and admiringly. “Go on talking to me,” she begged as Madame Guibert was silent. The latter looked at her long and tenderly, then again stroking her cheek, she said: “My child, you must promise me something.” “Oh, Madame, I will promise you anything you like.” “Try not to think about Marcel. You have no more right to. Accept your new life, as it is, without any regrets. God expects you to be brave enough to give up all your old dreams. You were wrong to make your husband change his career. Work is the true nobility of life. Help him to find some work, and atone for your mistake.” “He has deserted me, Madame Guibert.” “Idleness was perhaps the reason for that. Try to forgive him. Put your heart into your advice. Let him look after his estate, or interest himself in the affairs of the town. You will see that all is for the best. You may still be happy. Your daughter will help you. Is a woman ever to be pitied who has a child? Prepare this young life to be virtuous and strong. Love her, not for yourself but for herself. And God’s peace will rest on you.” “Oh, if you would only have me here sometimes and talk to me,” said Alice eagerly, “I think I should take heart once more.” She never seemed to think that her presence might recall a painful memory to Madame Guibert. But it was only for a moment that the latter hesitated. “Come here whenever you want me,” she answered simply. When Madame de Marthenay had gone, Madame Guibert took Marcel’s photograph and placed it beside her bed, behind the screen. “He will be nearer to me,” she thought. “And Alice will not see him again. She must not see his face if she is to do her duty bravely.” Then she knelt and prayed: