all. She will like Paris; and the last thing she said as I asked her to return with me, was, 'No; now that Madeline is gone, I have no desire.'"
"She loved our child," said Monsieur.
"Yes, she must have. As I turned away she broke into tears. It was the only time I ever saw Irène cry."
Presently Madame came from the house, and sat with Joseph. She looked pale, and had fallen away since their great sorrow. Her attachment to the young man was not weak; and it grew stronger now that she saw how deep his affection really was.
There was not much conversation, Of what should they talk? It was as if the flowers had gone from the earth, the light from the sun, the soul from the body. Monsieur was himself again more than either of the others. For them the great veil had not yet lifted. Their words had no deep meaning, but each understood the other's sorrow, and thus what was lacking in verbal intercourse was supplied by a communication more subtle than that of language.
"Joseph," said the mother, "will you come often?"
