ce of broken
looking-glass, before which she did her hair, as she was very anxious to
know whether anybody would notice a change in her, and, during the day,
she stopped working every few minutes to look at herself from top to toe,
to see whether her apron did not look too short.

The months went on, and she scarcely spoke now, and when she was asked a
question, did not appear to understand; but she had a frightened look,
haggard eyes and trembling hands, which made her master say to her
occasionally: "My poor girl, how stupid you have grown lately."

In church she hid behind a pillar, and no longer ventured to go to
confession, as she feared to face the priest, to whom she attributed
superhuman powers, which enabled him to read people's consciences; and at
meal times the looks of her fellow servants almost made her faint with
mental agony; and she was always fancying that she had been found out by
the cowherd, a precocious and cunning little lad, whose bright eyes
seemed always to be watching her.

One morning the postman brought her a letter, and as she had never
received one in her life before she was so upset by it that she was
obliged to sit down. Perhaps it was from him? But, as she could not read,
she sat anxious and trembling with that piece of paper, covered with ink,
in her hand. After a time, however, she put it into her pocket, as she
did not venture to confide her secret to any one. She often stopped in
her work to look at those lines written at regular intervals, and which
terminated in a signature, imagining vaguely that she would suddenly
discover their meaning, until at last, as she felt half mad with
impatience and anxiety, she went to the schoolmaster, who told her to sit
down and read to her as follows:

"MY DEAR DAUGHTER: I write to tell you that I am very ill. Our neighbor,
Monsieur Dentu, begs you to come, if you can.

"From your affectionate mother,
"CESAIRE DENTU, Deputy Mayor."

She did not say a word and went away, but as soon as she was alone her
legs gave way under her, and she fell down by the roadside and remained
there till night.

When she got back, she told the farmer her bad news, and he allowed her
to go home for as long as she liked, and promised to have her work done
by a charwoman and to take her back when she returned.

Her mother died soon after she got there, and the next day Rose gave
birth to a seven-months child, a miserable little skeleton, thin en