ts,
resolute and grave, waited in silent despair. Notwithstanding their
grief and tears, it was evidently necessary that this should be the end.
If they had ever wished for this death, preferring to lose their dear
child rather than to have her rebellious, it was evident that God also
wished it with them, and now, that in this last trying moment they were
quite powerless, they could only submit themselves to the inevitable.
They regretted nothing, although their sorrow seemed greater than they
could bear. Since she, their darling, had been there, suffering from
her long illness, they had taken the entire care of her day and night,
refusing all aid offered them from outside. They were still there alone
in this supreme hour, and they waited.

Hubert, scarcely knowing what he did, walked mechanically to the
porcelain stove, the door of which he opened, for the gentle roaring of
the flaming wood sounded to him like a plaintive moan; then there was a
perfect silence. The peonies seemed even to turn paler in the soft heat
of the room.

Hubertine, stronger than her husband, and still fully conscious of all
she did, listened to the sounds of the Cathedral as they came to
her from behind the walls. During the past moment the old stones had
vibrated from the swinging of the bell of the great tower. It must
certainly be the Abbe Cornille leaving the church with the sacred oils,
she thought; so she went downstairs, that she might receive him at the
door of the house.

Two minutes later, the narrow stairway of the little tower was filled
with a great murmuring sound. Then in the warm chamber, Hubert, struck
with astonishment, suddenly began to tremble, whilst a religious fear,
mingled with a faint hope, made him fall upon his knees. Instead of the
old clergyman whom they had expected, it was Monseigneur who entered.
Yes! Monseigneur, in lace surplice, having the violet stole, and
carrying the silver vessel in which was the oil for the sick, which he
himself had blessed on Holy Thursday. His eagle-like eyes were fixed,
as he looked straight before him; his beautiful pale face was really
majestic under the thick, curly masses of his white hair. Behind him
walked the Abbe Cornille, like a simple clerk, carrying in one hand a
crucifix, and under the other a book of ritual service.

Standing for a moment upon the threshold, the bishop said in a deep,
grave voice:

"_Pax huic domui_." ("Peace be to this house.")

"_Et omnibus habi