You are, I believe, the one person whose company I could endure.  Come to me, then; none but Renee should be with Louise in her sombre garb.  What a day when I first put on my widow’s bonnet!  When I saw myself all arrayed in black, I fell back on a seat and wept till night came; and I weep again as I recall that moment of anguish.

Good-bye.  Writing tires me; thoughts crowd fast, but I have no heart to put them into words.  Bring your children; you can nurse baby here without making me jealous; all that is gone, he is not here, and I shall be very glad to see my godson.  Felipe used to wish for a child like little Armand.  Come, then, come and help me to bear my woe.

XLVII

RENEE TO LOUISE
1829.

My darling,—­When you hold this letter in your hands, I shall be already near, for I am starting a few minutes after it.  We shall be alone together.  Louis is obliged to remain in Provence because of the approaching elections.  He wants to be elected again, and the Liberals are already plotting against his return.

I don’t come to comfort you; I only bring you my heart to beat in sympathy with yours, and help you to bear with life.  I come to bid you weep, for only with tears can you purchase the joy of meeting him again.  Remember, he is traveling towards Heaven, and every step forward which you take brings you nearer to him.  Every duty done breaks a link in the chain that keeps you apart.

Louise, in my arms you will once more raise your head and go on your way to him, pure, noble, washed of all those errors, which had no root in your heart, and bearing with you the harvest of good deeds which, in his name, you will accomplish here.

I scribble these hasty lines in all the bustle of preparation, and interrupted by the babies and by Armand, who keeps saying, “Godmother, godmother!  I want to see her,” till I am almost jealous.  He might be your child!

SECOND PART

XLVIII

THE BARONNE DE MACUMER TO THE COMTESSE DE L’ESTORADE
October 15, 1833.

Yes, Renee, it is quite true; you have been correctly informed.  I have sold my house, I have sold Chantepleurs, and the farms in Seine-et-Marne, but no more, please!  I am neither mad nor ruined, I assure you.

Let us go into the matter.  When everything was wound up, there remained to me of my poor Macumer’s fortune about twelve hundred thousand francs.  I will account, as to a practical sister, for every penny of this.

I put a million in the Three per Cents when they were at fifty, and so I have got an income for myself of sixty thousand francs, instead of the thirty thousand which the property yielded.  Then, only think what my life was.  Six months of the year in the country, renewing leases, listening to the grumbles of the farmers, who pay when it pleases them, and getting as bored as a sportsman in wet weather.  There was produce to sell, and I always sold it at a loss.  Then, in Paris, my house represented a rental of ten thousand francs; I had to invest my money at the notaries; I was kept waiting for the interest, and could only get the money back by prosecuting; in addition I had to study the law of mortgage.  In short, there was business in Nivernais, in Seine-et-Marne, in Paris—­and what a burden, what a nuisance, what a vexing and losing game for a widow of twenty-seven!