That was all in my favour when I entreated M. de Nidemerle to let me have a visit from my sister-in-law,—­not a mere call of ceremony, but a stay at the chateau long enough for me to get acquainted with her.  Not only was she the only sister of my dear Philippe, but the Marquis, her uncle, was her guardian and only near relative, so that he had a right to insist, more especially as the old Countess was imbecile and bedridden.

I think he felt towards me much as he would have done if he had been shut up in a room with Gaspard, ready to give me anything I begged for, provided I would not cry.  He was very good to me, and I could not but be sorry for the poor, bereaved, broken old man, and try to be a daughter to him; and thus our relations were very different from what they had been on our journey to Paris together in the coach.  At any rate, he promised me that I should be gratified, and the day after my brother left us, he actually went over to Chateau d’Aubepine, and brought off his niece in the carriage with him, presenting her to me in the hall like the spoils of war.  She was frightened, formal, and ceremonious all super time, but I thought she was beginning to thaw, and was more afraid of the Marquis than of me.  We played at cards all the evening, the Cure being sent for to make up the set, and now and then I caught her great eyes looking at me wistfully; indeed, I was obliged to avoid them lest they should make me weep; for it was almost the look that my Philippe used to cast on me in those early days when we had not begun to know one another.

At last we went up to bed.  The rooms were all en suite, and I had given her one opening into mine, telling her we would never shut the door save when she wished it.  I saw her gazing earnestly at her brother’s portrait and all the precious little objects consecrated to his memory, which I had arranged by my benitier and crucifix, but I did not expect her firs exclamation, when our woman had left us:  ’Ah!  Madame, how happy you are!’

‘I was once!’ I sighed.

’Ah! but you are happy.  You have your child, and your husband loved you.’

‘But your husband lives, and your children are well.’

’That may be.  I never see them.  I have only seen my daughter twice, and my son once, since they were born.  They will not let them come to the chateau, and they say there is no road to the farms.’

‘We will see to that,’ I said, and I made her tell me where they were; but she knew no more of distances than I did, never going anywhere save in the great family coach.  Poor child!  When I called her Cecile, she burst into tears, and said no one had called her by that name since she had left her friend Amelie in the convent, and as to calling me Marguerite, Mademoiselle de Gringrimeau would be sure to say it was bourgeois and ill-bred to use familiar names, but then we need never let her hear us.

I took the poor little forlorn creature to sleep with me, and then, and in the course of the next day or two, the whole sad state of things came before me.