She sat in her room hoping that M. Vulfran would send for her so that she could help him into the church, as she had done every Sunday since William had gone. But she waited in vain. When the bells, which had been tolling since the evening before, announced mass, she saw him get up into his carriage leaning on his brother's arm, while his sister and sister-in-law, with the members of their families, took their places in other carriages. She had no time to lose, for she had to walk. She hurried off. After she had left the house over which Death had spread its shroud, she was surprised to notice as she hastened through the village that the taverns had taken on their Sunday air. The men drank and laughed and the women chatted at their doors, while the children played in the street. Perrine wondered if none of them were going to attend the service. Upon entering the church, where she had been afraid that she would not find room, she saw that it was almost empty. The bereaved family sat in the choir; here and there was some village authority, a tradesman and the heads of the factories. Very few of the working men and women were present; they had not thought to come and join their prayers to those of their employer. Perrine took a seat beside Rosalie and her grandmother, who was in deep mourning. "Alas! my poor little Edmond," murmured the old nurse, wiping her eyes. "What did M. Vulfran say?" But Perrine was too overcome to reply. The services commenced. As she left the church, Mlle. Belhomme came up to her, and, like Françoise, wanted to question her about M. Vulfran. Perrine told her that he had not spoken to her since the evening before. "As I saw him kneeling there so crushed and broken for the first time, I was pleased that he was blind," said the governess sadly. "Why?" asked Perrine. "Because he could not see how few people came to the church. What indifference his men have shown! If he could have seen that empty church it would have added to his grief." "I think he must have known how few there were there," said Perrine. "His ears take the place of his eyes, and that empty silence could not deceive him." "Poor man," murmured Mlle. Belhomme; "and yet...." She paused. Then, as she was not in the habit of holding anything back, she went on: "And yet it will be a great lesson to him. You know, my child, you cannot expect others to share your sorrows if you are not willing to share theirs. "M. Vulfran gives his men what he considers their due," she continued, in a lower voice. "He is just, but that is all. He has never been a father to his men. He is all for business, business only. What a lot of good he could have done, however, not only here, but everywhere, if he had wished, by setting an example. Had he been more to his men you may be sure that the church would not have been as empty as it was today."