promise of the future radiated through the fine gold of wavy hair.

But yet another pang came to Constance at that moment: words which were
being whispered in the drawing-room, near the door of the bedchamber,
reached her distinctly. She did not move, but remained erect behind
Charlotte, who had resumed her work. And eagerly lending ear, she
listened, not showing herself as yet, although she had already seen
Marianne and Madame Angelin seated near the doorway, almost among the
folds of the hangings.

"Ah!" Madame Angelin was saying, "the poor mother had a presentiment of
it, as it were. I saw that she felt very anxious when I told her my own
sad story. There is no hope for me; and now death has passed by, and no
hope remains for her."

Silence ensued once more; then, prompted by some connecting train of
thought, she went on: "And your next child will be your eleventh, will
it not? Eleven is not a number; you will surely end by having twelve!"

As Constance heard those words she shuddered in another fit of that fury
which dried up her tears. By glancing sideways she could see that mother
of ten children, who was now expecting yet an eleventh child. She found
her still young, still fresh, overflowing with joy and health and hope.
And she was there, like the goddess of fruitfulness, nigh to the funeral
bier at that hour of the supreme rending, when she, Constance, was bowed
down by the irretrievable loss of her only child.

But Marianne was answering Madame Angelin: "Oh I don't think that at all
likely. Why, I'm becoming an old woman. You forget that I am already a
grandmother. Here, look at that!"

So saying, she waved her hand towards the servant of her
daughter-in-law, Charlotte, who, in accordance with the instructions
she had received, was now bringing the little Berthe in order that
her mother might give her the breast. The servant had remained at
the drawing-room door, hesitating, disliking to intrude on all that
mourning; but the child good-humoredly waved her fat little fists,
and laughed lightly. And Charlotte, hearing her, immediately rose and
tripped across the salon to take the little one into a neighboring room.

"What a pretty child!" murmured Madame Angelin. "Those little ones are
like nosegays; they bring brightness and freshness wherever they come."

Constance for her part had been dazzled. All at once, amid the
semi-obscurity, starred by the flames of the tapers, amid the deathly
atmosphere, wh