“It is not for myself I speak,” she said, “but is it likely that monsieur, good and kind as he was, would have died without leaving me the merest trifle?—­”

“Am I not here?” replied Ursula, forbidding La Bougival to say another word on the subject.

She could not endure to soil the dear and tender memories that surrounded that noble head—­a sketch of which in black and white hung in her little salon—­with thoughts of selfish interest.  To her fresh and beautiful imagination that sketch sufficed to make her see her godfather, on whom her thoughts continually dwelt, all the more because surrounded with the things he loved and used,—­his large duchess-sofa, the furniture from his study, his backgammon-table, and the piano he had chosen for her.  The two old friends who still remained to her, the Abbe Chaperon and Monsieur Bongrand, the only visitors whom she received, were, in the midst of these inanimate objects representative of the past, like two living memories of her former life to which she attached her present by the love her godfather had blessed.

After a while the sadness of her thoughts, softening gradually, gave tone to the general tenor of her life and united all its parts in an indefinable harmony, expressed by the exquisite neatness, the exact symmetry of her room, the few flowers sent by Savinien, the dainty nothings of a young girl’s life, the tranquillity which her quiet habits diffused about her, giving peace and composure to the little home.  After breakfast and after mass she continued her studies and practiced; then she took her embroidery and sat at the window looking on the street.  At four o’clock Savinien, returning from a walk (which he took in all weathers), finding the window open, would sit upon the outer casing and talk with her for half an hour.  In the evening the abbe and Monsieur Bongrand came to see her, but she never allowed Savinien to accompany them.  Neither did she accept Madame de Portenduere’s proposition, which Savinien had induced his mother to make, that she should visit there.

Ursula and La Bougival lived, moreover, with the strictest economy; they did not spend, counting everything, more than sixty francs a month.  The old nurse was indefatigable; she washed and ironed; cooked only twice a week,—­mistress and maid eating their food cold on other days; for Ursula was determined to save the seven hundred francs still due on the purchase of the house.  This rigid conduct, together with her modesty and her resignation to a life of poverty after the enjoyment of luxury and the fond indulgence of all her wishes, deeply impressed certain persons.  Ursula won the respect of others, and no voice was raised against her.  Even the heirs, once satisfied, did her justice.  Savinien admired the strength of character of so young a girl.  From time to time Madame de Portenduere, when they met in church, would address a few kind words to her, and twice she insisted on her coming to dinner and fetched her herself.  If all this was not happiness it was at least tranquillity.  But a benefit which came to Ursula through the legal care and ability of Bongrand started the smouldering persecution which up to this time had laid in Minoret’s breast as a dumb desire.