friends, all the district, had come
to pay a tribute of emotion at so sudden and swift a death. Thus, this
time, the cortege did stretch far away behind the hearse, draped with
white and blooming with white roses in the bright sunshine. The whole
family was present; the mother and the sisters had declared that they
would only quit their loved one when she had been lowered into her last
resting-place. And after the family came the friends, the Beauchenes,
the Seguins, and others. But Mathieu and Marianne, worn out, overcome
by suffering, no longer recognized people amid their tears. They only
remembered on the morrow that they must have seen Morange, if indeed it
were really Morange--that silent, unobtrusive, almost shadowy gentleman,
who had wept while pressing their hands. And in like fashion Mathieu
fancied that, in some horrible dream, he had seen Constance's spare
figure and bony profile drawing near to him in the cemetery after the
coffin had been lowered into the grave, and addressing vague words of
consolation to him, though he fancied that her eyes flashed the while as
if with abominable exultation.

What was it that she had said? He no longer knew. Of course her words
must have been appropriate, even as her demeanor was that of a mourning
relative. But a memory returned to him, that of other words which she
had spoken when promising to attend the two weddings. She had then in
bitter fashion expressed a wish that the good fortune of Chantebled
might continue. But they, the Froments, so fruitful and so prosperous,
were now stricken in their turn, and their good fortune had perhaps
departed forever! Mathieu shuddered; his faith in the future was shaken;
he was haunted by a fear of seeing prosperity and fruitfulness vanish,
now that there was that open breach.

XVII

A YEAR later the first child born to Ambroise and Andree, a boy, little
Leonce, was christened. The young people had been married very quietly
six weeks after the death of Rose. And that christening was to be the
first outing for Mathieu and Marianne, who had not yet fully recovered
from the terrible shock of their eldest daughter's death. Moreover, it
was arranged that after the ceremony there should simply be a lunch at
the parents' home, and that one and all should afterwards be free to
return to his or her avocations. It was impossible for the whole family
to come, and, indeed, apart from the grandfather and grandmother, only
the twins, D