re laid away at last in their narrow
bed!"

Never a day passed now but Henriette came in at night in this anguished
state, caused by some new death, and the suffering of others had the
effect of bringing them together even more closely still during the
sorrowful hours that they spent, secluded from all the world, in the
silent, tranquil chamber. And yet those hours were full of sweetness,
too, for affection, a feeling which they believed to be a brother's and
sister's love, had sprung up in those two hearts which little by
little had come to know each other's worth. To him, with his observant,
thoughtful nature, their long intimacy had proved an elevating
influence, while she, noting his unfailing kindness of heart and
evenness of temper, had ceased to remember that he was one of the
lowly of the earth and had been a tiller of the soil before he became a
soldier. Their understanding was perfect; they made a very good
couple, as Silvine said with her grave smile. There was never the least
embarrassment between them; when she dressed his leg the calm serenity
that dwelt in the eyes of both was undisturbed. Always attired in black,
in her widow's garments, it seemed almost as if she had ceased to be a
woman.

But during those long afternoons when Jean was left to himself he could
not help giving way to speculation. The sentiment he experienced for his
friend was one of boundless gratitude, a sort of religious reverence,
which would have made him repel the idea of love as if it were a sort of
sacrilege. And yet he told himself that had he had a wife like her,
so gentle, so loving, so helpful, his life would have been an earthly
paradise. His great misfortune, his unhappy marriage, the evil years
he had spent at Rognes, his wife's tragic end, all the sad past, arose
before him with a softened feeling of regret, with an undefined hope for
the future, but without distinct purpose to try another effort to master
happiness. He closed his eyes and dropped off into a doze, and then he
had a confused vision of being at Remilly, married again and owner of a
bit of land, sufficient to support a family of honest folks whose wants
were not extravagant. But it was all a dream, lighter than thistle-down;
he knew it could never, never be. He believed his heart to be capable of
no emotion stronger than friendship, he loved Henriette as he did solely
because he was Maurice's brother. And then that vague dream of marriage
had come to be in