With the notebooks there were also some loose sheets covered with figures and drawings, which I submitted to a constructor of aeroplanes. They appertained to a device for automatic lateral stability that should revolutionise the science of aviation. Unfortunately the notes are worthless, being embryonic and incomplete. On one of the sheets I came across a peculiar expression: “The face of the world changes.” I believed this to be one of Cernay’s reflections, after a daring flight, when from his position in the air the earth seemed to become smaller and smaller and finally disappear completely. But in a volume of Bossuet’s “Meditations on the Gospel,” which M. Mairieux showed me as the most precious souvenir of his daughter, I reread that same phrase, underscored by Mme. Cernay. So one must take it in its mystic meaning of splendid isolation. I inferred from it a posthumous and closer union in eternal love. * * * That evening, a little before dinner, I was seated in our favourite place on the cloister wall, with Dilette, who did not forget to ask me for a story. “Tell me about Lord Burleigh,--please!” But I no longer dared repeat that story. Too many recollections clung to it, like the ivy on the tombstone in the cemetery. I was searching my memory for another, when I heard the little girl repeating to me almost word for word the end, which she had learned by heart: “Then he said, Put on her simple woollen dress. That is the one she liked. And then she will lie in peace.--” THE END.