day.  The festivity was saddened by the news of disaster to the Grand Army at Beresina.  One of the letters that arrived that day was from the Polish officer, dying of his wounds, who sent Claes, as a legacy, some of his ideas for discovering the Absolute.  No one danced; the fete was gloomy; only Marguerite shone like a lovely flower on the anxious company.  When the guests departed, Balthazar showed Josephine the letter from the Pole.  She did everything a woman could do to distract his thoughts.  She made the home life enchanting.  She entertained.  She introduced the movement of the world into the great house.  In vain.  Her husband’s ennui was terrible to behold.  “I release you from your promise,” she said to him one day.

Balthazar returned with Lemulquinier to the attic, and the experiments began anew.  He was quite happy again.

A year passed; the Absolute was undiscovered.  Once more ruin haunted the state room of the Maison Claes.  Josephine’s confessor, the Abbe de Solis, who had sold her jewels, now suggested selling some of the Flemish pictures.  Josephine explained the situation to her husband.

“What do you think?” he cried.  “I am within an ace of finding the Absolute.  I have only to discover—­”

Josephine broke down.  She left her husband, and retired downstairs to her children.  The servants were summoned.  Madame Claes looked like death.  Everybody was alarmed.  Lemulquinier was told to go for the priest.  He said he had monsieur’s orders to see to in the laboratory.

III.—­The Passing of Josephine

It was the beginning of the end for Josephine.  As she lay dying, she saw judgment in the eyes of Marguerite—­judgment on Balthazar.  Her last days were sorrowed by the thought that the children would condemn their father.  Balthazar came sometimes to sit with her, but he appeared to be unaware of her situation.  He was charming to the younger children, but he was dead to the true condition of his wife.

One thing gave her peace.  The Abbe de Solis brought his nephew to the house, and this young man, Emmanuel, who was good and noble, evidently created a favourable impression on Marguerite.  The dying mother watched the progress of this love story with affectionate satisfaction.  It was all she had to light her way to the grave.  Pierquin told her that Balthazar had ordered him to raise three hundred thousand francs on his estate.  She saw that ruin could not be averted; she lay at death’s door, deserted by the husband she still worshipped, thinking of the children she had sacrificed.  The noble character of Marguerite cheered her last hours.  In that child, she would live on and be a providence to the family.

One day she wrote a letter, addressed and sealed it, and showed it to Marguerite.  It was addressed:  “To my daughter, Marguerite.”  She placed it under her pillow, said she would rest, and presently fell into a deep slumber.  When she awoke, all her children were kneeling round her in prayer, and with them was Emmanuel.