r eyes fixed and
hollow as those of a maniac. When Buvat entered, she did not even turn
her head toward him, but merely holding out her hand, she presented him
the letter. Buvat looked right and left to endeavor to find out what was
the matter, but seeing nothing to direct his conjectures, he looked at
the paper and read aloud:

"MADAME--Your husband has died for France and for me.
Neither France nor I can give you back your husband,
but remember that if ever you are in want of anything,
we are both your debtors.

"Your affectionate,

"PHILIPPE D'ORLEANS."

"What!" cried Buvat, fixing his great eyes on Clarice, "M. du Rocher--it
is not possible!"

"Papa is dead," said little Bathilde, leaving the corner where she was
playing with her doll, and running to her mother; "is it true that papa
is dead?"

"Alas! yes, my dear child!" said Clarice, finding at once words and
tears. "Oh yes, it is true; it is but too true, unhappy that we are!"

"Madame," said Buvat, who had been seeking for some consolation to
offer, "you must not grieve thus; perhaps it is a false report."

"Do you not see that the letter is from the Duc d'Orleans himself?"
cried the poor widow. "Yes, my child, your father is dead. Weep, my
child; perhaps in seeing your tears God will have pity on me;" and
saying these things, the poor widow coughed so painfully that Buvat felt
his own breast torn by it, but his fright was still greater when he saw
that the handkerchief which she drew from her mouth was covered with
blood. Then he understood that a greater misfortune threatened Bathilde
than that which had just befallen her.

The apartments which Clarice occupied were now too large for her. No one
was astonished when she left them for smaller ones on the second floor.
Besides her grief, which annihilated all her other faculties, Clarice
felt, in common with all other noble hearts, a certain unwillingness to
ask, even from her county, a reward for the blood which had been spilled
for it, particularly when that blood is still warm, as was that of
Albert. The poor widow hesitated to present herself to the
minister-at-war to ask for her due. At the end of three months, when she
took courage to make the first steps, the taking of Requena and that of
Saragossa had already thrown into the shade the battle of Almanza.
Clarice showed the prince's letter. The secretary replied that with such
a letter she could not fail in obtainin