he night wore on; the stars were fading, and a cool breeze sprang up.
The moon was slowly sinking towards the sea over which she was shedding
her silver light, and the memory of that other night she had passed at
the window, the night of her return from the convent, came back to
Jeanne. Ah! how far away was that happy time! How changed everything
was, and what a different future lay before her from what she had
pictured then! Over the sky crept a faint, tender tinge of pink, and the
brilliant dawn seemed strange and unnatural to her, as she wondered how
such glorious sunrises could illumine a world in which there was no joy
or happiness.

A slight sound startled her, and looking round she saw Julien.

"Well, are you not very tired?" he said.

"No," she answered, feeling glad that her lonely vigil had come to an
end.

"Now go and rest," said her husband.

She pressed a long sorrowful kiss on her mother's face; then left the
room.

That day passed in attending to those melancholy duties that always
surround a death; the baron came in the evening, and cried a great deal
over his wife. The next day the funeral took place; Jeanne pressed her
lips to the clammy forehead for the last time, drew the sheet once more
over the still face, saw the coffin fastened down, and then went to
await the people who were to attend the funeral.

Gilberte arrived first, and threw herself into Jeanne's arms, sobbing
violently. The carriages began to drive up, and voices were heard in the
hall. The room gradually filled with women with whom Jeanne was not
acquainted; then the Marquise de Coutelier and the Vicomtesse de
Briseville arrived, and went up to her and kissed her. She suddenly
perceived that Aunt Lison was in the room, and she gave her such an
affectionate embrace, that the old maid was nearly overcome. Julien came
in dressed in deep mourning; he seemed very busy, and very pleased that
all these people had come. He whispered some question to his wife about
the arrangements, and added in a low tone:

"It will be a very grand funeral; all the best families are here."

Then he went away again, bowing to the ladies as he passed down the
room.

Aunt Lison and the Comtesse Gilberte stayed with Jeanne while the burial
was taking place. The comtesse repeatedly kissed her, murmuring: "Poor
darling, poor darling," and when the Comte de Fourville came to take his
wife home, he wept as if he had lost his own mother.

* *