or fate, or "the Will of God," in the shape of the
Archambaults--who, as Pauline foresaw, had all returned, this time to
claim their own.

The disappearance of Mme. Poussette occasioned no comment; for two days
after the death of Henry Clairville no one spoke to her or thanked her
for all she had done, and while the funeral was in progress she put her
few things in a box, and counting a small store of money Poussette had
given her from time to time, went with Antoine Archambault to the
station at Bois Clair, and was no more seen at St. Ignace. Of all the
characters in this simple history, none perhaps was so sincerely
deserving as this unfortunate Mme. Poussette, and as she passes from
the stormy little village in behind the gate of the serene but busy
hospital, it is pleasant to contemplate the change there in store for
her. To many women who are plain and unattractive in the ever-varying
hat and gown of fashion, and who, if they try to hold their own, must
sooner or later resort to artificial aids to attain even moderate good
looks, there is yet a refuge, that of some severe and never-changing
style of dress or uniform, which bestows upon them another kind of
beauty. The kitchen dish or utensil has its charm as well as the
sprigged china of the closet; the jug going to the well is as grateful
to the eye as the prismatic beaker upon the table, and, in like manner,
the banded or braided hair, the perfect cleanliness of fresh print or
linen and the straight serviceable lines of skirt and waist often
contribute to make a plain woman fully as attractive as her prettier
sisters. Thus Mme. Poussette, about whom there was never anything
repulsive or vulgar, presented new features to the world in her
exquisitely neat hospital garb; more than this, she liked her work, and
gradually her expression grew less vacant; she left off humming and
whispering to herself, and we leave her thus, contented, respected and
of use, and, therefore, almost happy.

Indeed, many there are beside Mme. Natalie Poussette who find as life
slips by and the feverish quest of happiness dies within them, that
they become happy almost without knowing it in the pursuit of other
things once despised, such as work, friendship, the need of earning, or
the love of an abstract subject. What a contrast then does this
"afflicted," this "peculiar" one afford to the restless, imaginative,
gifted but unstable Pauline, in whom the quest of happiness had so far