ill she was
greatly annoyed at her husband having had to go that morning to
Versailles--for some consultation or other, he explained, which he
could not well neglect. Thus she was left alone, and felt she would
never be able to get through with it all. Madame Berthier was the
first arrival, bringing her two daughters with her.

"What do you think!" exclaimed Madame Deberle; "Henri has deserted me!
Well, Lucien, why don't you say good-day?"

Lucien was already dressed for the funeral, with his hands in black
gloves. He seemed astonished to see Sophie and Blanche dressed as
though they were about to take part in some church procession. A silk
sash encircled the muslin gown of each, and their veils, which swept
down to the floor, hid their little caps of transparent tulle. While
the two mothers were busy chatting, the three children gazed at one
another, bearing themselves somewhat stiffly in their new attire. At
last Lucien broke the silence by saying: "Jeanne is dead."

His heart was full, and yet his face wore a smile--a smile born of
amazement. He had been very quiet since the evening before, dwelling
on the thought that Jeanne was dead. As his mother was up to her ears
in business, and took no notice of him, he had plied the servants with
questions. Was it a fact, he wanted to know, that it was impossible to
move when one was dead?"

"She is dead, she is dead!" echoed the two sisters, who looked like
rosebuds under their white veils. "Are we going to see her?"

Lucien pondered for a time, and then, with dreamy eyes and opened
mouth, seemingly striving to divine the nature of this problem which
lay beyond his ken, he answered in a low tone:

"We shall never see her again."

However, several other little girls now entered the room. On a sign
from his mother Lucien advanced to meet them. Marguerite Tissot, her
muslin dress enveloping her like a cloud, seemed a child-Virgin; her
fair hair, escaping from underneath her little cap, looked, through
the snowy veil, like a tippet figured with gold. A quiet smile crept
into every face when the five Levasseurs made their appearance; they
were all dressed alike, and trooped along in boarding-school fashion,
the eldest first, the youngest last; and their skirts stood out to
such an extent that they quite filled one corner of the room. But on
little Mademoiselle Guiraud's entry the whispering voices rose to a
higher key; the others laughed and crowded round to see her and k