viour. With his scarlet wings and emerald body, it was
really the image of Loulou. Having bought the picture, she hung it near
the one of the Comte d'Artois so that she could take them in at one
glance.

They associated in her mind, the parrot becoming sanctified through the
neighbourhood of the Holy Ghost, and the latter becoming more lifelike
in her eyes, and more comprehensible. In all probability the Father had
never chosen as messenger a dove, as the latter has no voice, but rather
one of Loulou's ancestors. And Felicite said her prayers in front of the
coloured picture, though from time to time she turned slightly towards
the bird.

She desired very much to enter in the ranks of the "Daughters of the
Virgin." But Madame Aubain dissuaded her from it.

A most important event occurred: Paul's marriage.

After being first a notary's clerk, then in business, then in the
customs, and a tax collector, and having even applied for a position
in the administration of woods and forests, he had at last, when he
was thirty-six years old, by a divine inspiration, found his vocation:
registrature! and he displayed such a high ability that an inspector had
offered him his daughter and his influence.

Paul, who had become quite settled, brought his bride to visit his
mother.

But she looked down upon the customs of Pont-l'Eveque, put on airs, and
hurt Felicite's feelings. Madame Aubain felt relieved when she left.

The following week they learned of Monsieur Bourais' death in an inn.
There were rumours of suicide, which were confirmed; doubts concerning
his integrity arose. Madame Aubain looked over her accounts and soon
discovered his numerous embezzlements; sales of wood which had been
concealed from her, false receipts, etc. Furthermore, he had an
illegitimate child, and entertained a friendship for "a person in
Dozule."

These base actions affected her very much. In March, 1853, she developed
a pain in her chest; her tongue looked as if it were coated with smoke,
and the leeches they applied did not relieve her oppression; and on the
ninth evening she died, being just seventy-two years old.

People thought that she was younger, because her hair, which she wore in
bands framing her pale face, was brown. Few friends regretted her loss,
for her manner was so haughty that she did not attract them. Felicite
mourned for her as servants seldom mourn for their masters. The fact
that Madame should die before herself perplexe