of them, Felicite would run and
notify her mistress. But only one thing was capable of arousing her: a
letter from her son.

He could not follow any profession as he was absorbed in drinking. His
mother paid his debts and he made fresh ones; and the sighs that she
heaved while she knitted at the window reached the ears of Felicite who
was spinning in the kitchen.

They walked in the garden together, always speaking of Virginia, and
asking each other if such and such a thing would have pleased her, and
what she would probably have said on this or that occasion.

All her little belongings were put away in a closet of the room which
held the two little beds. But Madame Aubain looked them over as little
as possible. One summer day, however, she resigned herself to the task
and when she opened the closet the moths flew out.

Virginia's frocks were hung under a shelf where there were three dolls,
some hoops, a doll-house, and a basic which she had used. Felicite
and Madame Aubain also took out the skirts, the handkerchiefs, and the
stockings and spread them on the beds, before putting them away again.
The sun fell on the piteous things, disclosing their spots and the
creases formed by the motions of the body. The atmosphere was warm and
blue, and a blackbird trilled in the garden; everything seemed to live
in happiness. They found a little hat of soft brown plush, but it was
entirely moth-eaten. Felicite asked for it. Their eyes met and filled
with tears; at last the mistress opened her arms and the servant threw
herself against her breast and they hugged each other and giving vent to
their grief in a kiss which equalised them for a moment.

It was the first time that this had ever happened, for Madame Aubain was
not of an expansive nature. Felicite was as grateful for it as if it had
been some favour, and thenceforth loved her with animal-like devotion
and a religious veneration.

Her kind-heartedness developed. When she heard the drums of a marching
regiment passing through the street, she would stand in the doorway
with a jug of cider and give the soldiers a drink. She nursed cholera
victims. She protected Polish refugees, and one of them even declared
that he wished to marry her. But they quarrelled, for one morning when
she returned from the Angelus she found him in the kitchen coolly eating
a dish which he had prepared for himself during her absence.

After the Polish refugees, came Colmiche, an old man who was