“Do they wish to make me regret dying?” she said to the rector.

“We wish to prevent you from dying,” replied Clousier.

“You cannot make the dead live,” she answered.

Monsieur Bonnet gave her a stern look which recalled her to herself.

“Let me take care of your health,” said Roubaud, in a gentle, persuasive voice.  “I am sure I can save to this region its living glory, and to all our friends their common tie.”

Veronique bowed her head, and Gerard rowed slowly toward the island in the middle of the lake, the largest of the three, into which the overflowing water of the first was rippling with a sound that gave a voice to that delightful landscape.

“You have done well to make me bid farewell to this ravishing nature on such a day,” she said, looking at the beauty of the trees, all so full of foliage that they hid the shore.  The only disapprobation her friends allowed themselves was to show a gloomy silence; and Veronique, receiving another glance from Monsieur Bonnet, sprang lightly ashore, assuming a lively air, which she did not relinquish.  Once more the hostess, she was charming, and the Grossetete family felt she was again the beautiful Madame Graslin of former days.

“Indeed, you can still live, if you choose!” said her mother in a whisper.

At this gay festival, amid these glorious creations produced by the resources of nature only, nothing seemed likely to wound Veronique, and yet it was here and now that she received her death-blow.

The party were to return about nine o’clock by way of the meadows, the road through which, as lovely as an English or an Italian road, was the pride of its engineer.  The abundance of small stones, laid aside when the plain was cleared, enabled him to keep it in good order; in fact, for the last five years it was, in a way, macadamized.  Carriages were awaiting the company at the opening of the last valley toward the plain, almost at the base of the Roche-Vive.  The horses, raised at Montegnac, were among the first that were ready for the market.  The manager of the stud had selected a dozen for the stables of the chateau, and their present fine appearance was part of the programme of the fete.  Madame Graslin’s own carriage, a gift from Grossetete, was drawn by four of the finest animals, plainly harnessed.

After dinner the happy party went to take coffee in a little wooden kiosk, made like those on the Bosphorus, and placed on a point of the island from which the eye could reach to the farther lake beyond.  From this spot Madame Graslin thought she saw her son Francis near the nursery-ground formerly planted by Farrabesche.  She looked again, but did not see him; and Monsieur Ruffin pointed him out to her, playing on the bank with Grossetete’s children.  Veronique became alarmed lest he should meet with some accident.  Not listening to remonstrance, she ran down from the kiosk, and jumping into a boat, began to row toward