These three sisters were called the Demoiselles Vildéneux[48]; they were the daughters of a poor gentleman, and instead of dividing his slender inheritance, they had enjoyed it in common, had never left one another, had never been out of their natal village. They had been intimate with my grandmother since childhood, lived next door to her, and came every day, at the preconcerted signal in the chimney, to make up their friend's party at quadrille. The game began; the good ladies quarrelled; it was the only incident in their lives, the only moment that spoiled the evenness of their temper. At eight o'clock, supper restored their serenity. Often my uncle de Bedée[49], with his son and his three daughters, would be present at my grandmother's supper. The latter would tell a thousand stories of the old days; my uncle, in his turn, would describe the battle of Fontenoy, at which he was present, and crown his boasting with stories which were a little free and which made the worthy spinsters die with laughing. At nine o'clock, supper over, the servants entered; all went on their knees, and Mademoiselle de Boisteilleul said prayers aloud. At ten o'clock all in the house slept, except my grand-mother, who made her waiting-woman read to her till one in the morning. This society, which was the first I saw in my life, was also the first to disappear from my eyes. I saw death enter that abode of peace and bliss, making it gradually lonely, closing first one room and then another which were never reopened. I saw my grandmother obliged to forego her quadrille, for want of her accustomed partners; I saw the number of her constant friends diminish until the day came when my grand-mother was the last to fall. She and her sister had promised to call each other so soon as one had preceded the other; they kept their word, and Madame de Bedée survived Mademoiselle de Boisteilleul but a few months. I am perhaps the only man living that knows that these persons existed. Twenty times since that period I have made the same remark; twenty times have societies been formed and dissolved around me. The impossibility of long duration in human relations, the profound forgetfulness that pursues us, the invincible silence that takes possession of our tomb and spreads thence over our house, constantly recall me to the necessity of isolation. Any hand will serve to give us the glass of water which we may need in the fever preceding death. Ah, that it may not be too dear to us! For how can one forsake without despair the hand which he has covered with kisses, and which he would like to hold to his heart for ever? [Sidenote: The Bedée family.]