She took the arm of her mother, who was leading Francis by the hand, and went to the long terrace at the foot of which are the church and the parsonage, and from which the houses of the village can be seen in tiers. The rector carried off Monseigneur Dutheil to show him the different sides of the landscape. Before long the two priests came round to the farther end of the terrace, where they found Madame Graslin and her mother motionless as statues. The old woman was wiping her eyes with a handkerchief, and her daughter stood with both hands stretched beyond the balustrade as though she were pointing to the church below. “What is the matter, madame?” said the rector to Madame Sauviat. “Nothing,” replied Madame Graslin, turning round and advancing a few steps to meet the priests; “I did not know that I should have the cemetery under my eyes.” “You can put it elsewhere; the law gives you that right.” “The law!” she exclaimed with almost a cry. Again the bishop looked fixedly at Veronique. Disturbed by the dark glance with which the priest had penetrated the veil of flesh that covered her soul, dragging thence a secret hidden in the grave of that cemetery, she said to him suddenly:-- “Well, _yes_!” The priest laid his hand over his eyes and was silent for a moment as if stunned. “Help my daughter,” cried the old mother; “she is fainting.” “The air is so keen, it overcomes me,” said Madame Graslin, as she fell unconscious into the arms of the two priests, who carried her into one of the lower rooms of the chateau. When she recovered consciousness she saw the priests on their knees praying for her. “May the angel you visited you never leave you!” said the bishop, blessing her. “Farewell, my daughter.” Overcome by those words Madame Graslin burst into tears. “Tears will save her!” cried her mother. “In this world and in the next,” said the bishop, turning round as he left the room. The room to which they had carried Madame Graslin was on the first floor above the ground-floor of the corner tower, from which the church and cemetery and southern side of Montegnac could be seen. She determined to remain there, and did so, more or less uncomfortably, with Aline her maid and little Francis. Madame Sauviat, naturally, took another room near hers. It was several days before Madame Graslin recovered from the violent emotion which overcame her on that first evening, and her mother induced her to stay in bed at least during the mornings. At night, Veronique would come out and sit on a bench of the terrace from which her eyes could rest on the church and cemetery. In spite of Madame Sauviat’s mute but persistent opposition, Madame Graslin formed an almost monomaniacal habit of sitting in the same place, where she seemed to give way to the blackest melancholy. “Madame will die,” said Aline to the old mother.