broken cup she was trying to
arrange at the foot of the grave. I suppose my face was expressive, for
the old woman answered my unspoken thought. "Ah, yes, Madame, it is _I_
who ought to be lying there instead of my children. All gone before me
except this one grandchild, and I a helpless, useless burden upon the
charity of the parish."

On my way home I met all the village children carrying flowers. We had
given our best chrysanthemums for the "pain benit," which we offer
to-morrow to the church. Three or four times a year, at the great fetes,
the most important families of the village offer the "pain benit," which
is then a brioche. We gave our boulanger "carte blanche," and he
evidently was very proud of his performance, as he offered to bring it
to us before it was sent to the church, but we told him we would see it
there. I am writing late. We have all come upstairs. It is so mild that
my window is open; there is not a sound except the sighing of the wind
in the pines and the church bells that are ringing for the vigil of All
Saints. Besides our own bells, we hear others, faintly, in the distance,
from the little village of Neufchelles, about two miles off. It is a bad
sign when we hear Neufchelles too well. Means rain. I should be so sorry
if it rained to-morrow, just as all the fresh flowers have been put on
the graves.

November 2nd. "Jour des Morts."

We had a beautiful day yesterday and a nice service in our little
church. Our "pain benit" was a thing of beauty and quite distracted the
school children. It was a most imposing edifice--two large, round
brioches, four smaller ones on top, they went up in a pyramid. The four
small ones go to the notabilities of the village--the cure, two of the
principal farmers and the miller; the whole thing very well arranged,
with red and white flowers and lighted tapers. It was carried by two
"enfants de choeur," preceded by the beadle with his cocked hat and
staff and followed by two small girls with lighted tapers. The "enfants
de choeur" were not in their festal attire of red soutanes and red
shoes--only in plain black. Since the inventories ordered by the
government in all the churches, most of the people have taken away their
gifts in the way of vestments, soutanes, vases, etc., and the red
soutanes, shoes and caps, with a handsome white satin embroidered
vestment that C. gave the church when she was married, are carefully
folded and put away in a safe place out of