n him the
money, that he might get both receipts at once. The landlord, who had
feared a delay on the part of his tenant, did not care from whence the
money came, and willingly gave the two receipts.

Buvat, in the naivete of his soul, was tormented by this good action as
by a crime. He was three or four days without daring to present himself
to his neighbor, so that when he returned, he found her quite affected
by what she thought an act of indifference on his part. Buvat found
Clarice so much changed during these few days, that he left her wiping
his eyes, and for the first time he went to bed without having sung,
during the fifteen turns he generally took in his bedroom--

"Then let me go," etc.

which was a proof of melancholy preoccupation.

The last days of winter passed, and brought, in passing, the news that
Lerida had surrendered, and that the young and indefatigable general was
about to besiege Tortosa. This was the last blow for poor Clarice. She
understood that spring was coming, and with it a new campaign, which
would retain the duke with the army. Strength failed her, and she was
obliged to take to her bed.

The position of Clarice was frightful. She did not deceive herself as to
her illness. She felt that it was mortal, and she had no one in the
world to whom she could recommend her child. The poor woman feared
death, not on her own account, but on her daughter's, who would not have
even the stone of her mother's tomb to rest her head on, for the
unfortunate have no tomb. Her husband had only distant relations, from
whom she could not solicit aid; as to her own family, born in France,
where her mother died, she had not even known them; besides, she
understood that if there were any hope from that quarter, there was no
longer the time to seek it. Death was approaching.

One night Buvat, who the evening before had left Clarice devoured by
fever, heard her groaning so deeply, that he jumped from his bed and
dressed himself to go and offer her help; but on arriving at the door,
he did not dare to enter or to knock--Clarice was sobbing and praying
aloud. At this moment Bathilde woke and called her mother. Clarice drove
back her tears, took her child from the cradle, and placing her on her
knees on her own bed, made her repeat what prayers she knew, and between
each of them Buvat heard her cry in a sad voice--

"Oh, my God! listen to my poor child!"

There was in this nocturnal scene--the child sca