tied into ten little packets, which were laid side by side in
the lowest drawer. A refinement of sentimentality prompted her to place
them all on the bed in the baroness's arms; then she began to read.

They were old-fashioned letters with the perfume of another century
about them, such as are treasured up in every family. The first
commenced "My dearie"; another "My little darling"; then came some
beginning "My pet"--"My beloved daughter," then "My dear child"--"My
dear Adelaide"--"My dear daughter," the commencements varying as the
letters had been addressed to the child, the young girl, and, later on,
to the young wife. They were all full of foolish, loving phrases, and
news about a thousand insignificant, homely events, which, to a
stranger, would have seemed too trivial to mention: "Father has an
influenza; Hortense has burnt her finger; Croquerat, the cat, is dead;
the fir tree which stood on the right-hand side of the gate has been cut
down; mother lost her mass book as she was coming home from church, she
thinks someone must have stolen it," and they talked about people whom
Jeanne had never known, but whose names were vaguely familiar to her.

She was touched by these simple details which seemed to reveal all her
mother's life and inmost thoughts to her. She looked at the corpse as it
lay there, and suddenly she began to read the letters aloud, as though
to console and gladden the dead heart once more; and a smile of
happiness seemed to light up the face. As she finished reading them,
Jeanne threw the letters on the foot of the bed, resolving to place them
all in her mother's coffin.

She untied another packet. These were in another handwriting, and the
first ran thus:

"I cannot live without your kisses. I love you madly."

There was nothing more, not even a signature. Jeanne turned the paper
over, unable to understand it. It was addressed clearly enough to
"Madame la baronne Le Perthuis des Vauds."

She opened the next:

"Come to-night as soon as he has gone out. We shall have at least
one hour together. I adore you."

A third:

"I have passed a night of longing and anguish. I fancied you in my
arms, your mouth quivering beneath mine, your eyes looking into my
eyes. And then I could have dashed myself from the window, as I
thought that, at that very moment, you were sleeping beside him, at
the mercy of his caresses."

Jeanne stopped in amazement. What did it