ison, the baroness's
sister, who was a lady-boarder in a convent at Versailles.

After their father's death the baroness wanted her sister to live with
her, but the old maid was convinced that she was a nuisance to
everybody, and always in the way, and she took apartments in one of the
convents which open their doors to the solitary and unhappy, though she
occasionally spent a month or two with her relations. She was a small
woman with very little to say, and always kept in the background; when
she stayed with the baroness she was only seen at meal times, the rest
of the day she spent shut up in her room. She had a kind, rather
old-looking face, although she was only forty-two, with sad, meek eyes.
Her wishes had always been sacrificed to those of everyone else. As a
child she had always sat quietly in some corner, never kissed because
she was neither pretty nor noisy, and as a young girl no one had ever
troubled about her. Her sister, following the example of her parents,
always thought of her as of someone of no importance, almost like some
object of furniture which she was accustomed to see every day but which
never occupied her thoughts.

She seemed ashamed of her name, Lise, because it was so girlish and
pretty, and when there seemed no likelihood of her marrying, "Lise" had
gradually changed to "Lison." Since the birth of Jeanne she had become
"Aunt Lison," a sort of poor relation whom everyone treated with a
careless familiarity which hid a good-natured contempt. She was prim and
very timid even with her sister and brother-in-law, who liked her as
they liked everyone, but whose affection was formed of an indifferent
kindness, and an unconscious compassion.

Sometimes when the baroness was speaking of the far-away time of her
childhood she would say to fix a date: "It was about the time of Lison's
mad attempt." She never said anything more, and there was a certain
mystery about this "mad attempt."

One evening, when she was about nineteen years old, Lise had tried to
drown herself. No one could understand the reason of this act of folly;
there was nothing in her life or habits to at all account for it. She
had been rescued half-dead, and her parents, shocked at the deed, had
not attempted to discover its cause, but had only talked about her "mad
attempt," in the same way as they had spoken of the accident to the
horse Coco, when he had broken his leg in a ditch and had to be killed.
Since then Lise had been th