in the silk robe which she
has selected for a shroud.

She will be no more. Everything in life will go on as before for others.
For her, life will be over, over forever. She will be no more. She
smiles, and inhales as well as she can, with her diseased lungs, the
perfumed air of the gardens.

And she sinks into a reverie.

She recalls the past. She had been married, four years ago, to a Norman
gentleman. He was a strong young man, bearded, healthy-looking, with wide
shoulders, narrow mind, and joyous disposition.

They had been united through financial motives which she knew nothing
about. She would willingly have said No. She said Yes, with a movement of
the head, in order not to thwart her father and mother. She was a
Parisian, gay, and full of the joy of living.

Her husband brought her home to his Norman chateau. It was a huge stone
building surrounded by tall trees of great age. A high clump of pine
trees shut out the view in front. On the right, an opening in the trees
presented a view of the plain, which stretched out in an unbroken level
as far as the distant, farmsteads. A cross-road passed before the gate
and led to the high road three kilometres away.

Oh! she recalls everything, her arrival, her first day in her new abode,
and her isolated life afterward.

When she stepped out of the carriage, she glanced at the old building,
and laughingly exclaimed:

"It does not look cheerful!"

Her husband began to laugh in his turn, and replied:

"Pooh! we get used to it! You'll see. I never feel bored in it, for my
part."

That day they passed their time in embracing each other, and she did not
find it too long. This lasted fully a month. The days passed one after
the other in insignificant yet absorbing occupations. She learned the
value and the importance of the little things of life. She knew that
people can interest themselves in the price of eggs, which cost a few
centimes more or less according to the seasons.

It was summer. She went to the fields to see the men harvesting. The
brightness of the sunshine found an echo in her heart.

The autumn came. Her husband went out shooting. He started in the morning
with his two dogs Medor and Mirza. She remained alone, without grieving,
moreover, at Henry's absence. She was very fond of him, but she did not
miss him. When he returned home, her affection was especially bestowed on
the dogs. She took care of them every evening with a mother's tenderness,
c