dchamber. The large curtains had been closely
drawn, and tapers were burning near the bed, casting a soft light on the
deceased's face, which appeared very calm, very white, the eyes closed
as if in sleep. Between the clasped hands rested a crucifix, and
with the roses scattered over the sheet the bed was like a couch of
springtide. The odor of the flowers, mingling with that of the burning
wax, seemed rather oppressive amid the deep and tragic stillness. Not
a breath stirred the tall, erect flames of the tapers, burning in the
semi-obscurity, amid which the bed alone showed forth.

When Mathieu and Marianne had gone in, they perceived their
daughter-in-law, Charlotte, behind a screen near the door. Lighted by a
little lamp, she sat there with a sketching-block on her knees, making
a drawing of Maurice's head as it rested among the roses. Hard and
anguish-bringing as was such work for one with so young a heart, she had
nevertheless yielded to the mother's ardent entreaties. And for three
hours past, pale, looking wondrously beautiful, her face showing all
the flower of youth, her blue eyes opening widely under her fine golden
hair, she had been there diligently working, striving to do her best.
When Mathieu and Marianne approached her she would not speak, but simply
nodded. Still a little color came to her cheeks, and her eyes smiled.
And when the others, after lingering there for a moment in sorrowful
contemplation, had quietly returned to the drawing-room, she resumed her
work alone, in the presence of the dead, among the roses and the tapers.

Morange was still walking the drawing-room like a lost, wandering
phantom. Mathieu remained standing there, while Marianne sat down near
the folding doors. Not another word was exchanged; the spell of waiting
continued amid the oppressive silence of the dim, closed room. When
some ten minutes had elapsed, two other visitors arrived, a lady and a
gentleman, whom the Froments could not at first recognize. Morange bowed
and received them in his dazed way. Then, as the lady did not release
her hold of the gentleman's hand, but led him along, as if he were
blind, between the articles of furniture, so that he might not knock
against them, Marianne and Mathieu realized that the new comers were the
Angelins.

Since the previous winter they had sold their little house at Janville
to fix themselves in Paris, for a last misfortune had befallen them--the
failure of a great banking house