nst the
door-frame, and clung to it for support, still keeping her eyes fixed on
the armchairs. The vision disappeared and for some minutes she stood
horror-stricken; then she slowly regained possession of herself and
turned to fly, afraid that she was going mad. Her eyes fell on the
wainscoting against which she was leaning and she saw Poulet's ladder.
There were all the faint marks traced on the wall at unequal intervals
and the figures which had been cut with a penknife to indicate the
month, and the child's age and growth. In some places there was the
baron's big writing, in others her own, in others again Aunt Lison's,
which was a little shaky. She could see the boy standing there now, with
his fair hair, and his little forehead pressed against the wall to have
his height measured, while the baron exclaimed: "Jeanne, he has grown
half an inch in six weeks," and she began to kiss the wainscoting in a
frenzy of love for the very wood.

Then she heard Rosalie's voice outside, calling: "Madame Jeanne! Madame
Jeanne! lunch is waiting," and she went out with her head in a whirl.
She felt unable to understand anything that was said to her. She ate
what was placed before her, listened to what was being said without
realizing the sense of the words, answered the farmers' wives when they
inquired after her health, passively received their kisses and kissed
the cheeks which were offered to her, and then got into the chaise
again.

When she could no longer see the high roof of the chateau through the
trees, something within her seemed to break, and she felt that she had
just said good-bye to her old home for ever.

They went straight back to Batteville, and as she was going indoors
Jeanne saw something white under the door; it was a letter which the
postman had slipped there during their absence. She at once recognized
Paul's handwriting and tore open the envelope in an agony of anxiety. He
wrote:

"My Dear Mother: I have not written before because I did not want
to bring you to Paris on a fruitless errand, for I have always been
meaning to come and see you myself. At the present moment I am in
great trouble and difficulty. My wife gave birth to a little girl
three days ago, and now she is dying and I have not a penny. I do
not know what to do with the child; the doorkeeper is trying to
nourish it with a feeding-bottle as best she can, but I fear I
shall lose it. Could not you take