the Ursulines at Honfleur.

The child made no objection, but Felicite sighed and thought Madame
was heartless. Then, she thought that perhaps her mistress was right,

as these things were beyond her sphere. Finally, one day, an old
fiacre stopped in front of the door and a nun stepped out. Felicite

put Virginia's luggage on top of the carriage, gave the coachman some
instructions, and smuggled six jars of jam, a dozen pears and a bunch

of violets under the seat.
At the last minute, Virginia had a fit of sobbing; she embraced her

mother again and again, while the latter kissed her on the forehead,
and said: "Now, be brave, be brave!" The step was pulled up and the

fiacre rumbled off.
Then Madame Aubain had a fainting spell, and that evening all her

friends, including the two Lormeaus, Madame Lechaptois, the ladies
Rochefeuille, Messieurs de Houppeville and Bourais, called on her and

tendered their sympathy.
At first the separation proved very painful to her. But her daughter

wrote her three times a week and the other days she, herself, wrote to
Virginia. Then she walked in the garden, read a little, and in this

way managed to fill out the emptiness of the hours.
Each morning, out of habit, Felicite entered Virginia's room and gazed

at the walls. She missed combing her hair, lacing her shoes, tucking
her in her bed, and the bright face and little hand when they used to

go out for a walk. In order to occupy herself she tried to make lace.
But her clumsy fingers broke the threads; she had no heart for

anything, lost her sleep and "wasted away," as she put it.
In order to have some distraction, she asked leave to receive the

visits of her nephew Victor.
He would come on Sunday, after church, with ruddy cheeks and bared

chest, bringing with him the scent of the country. She would set the
table and they would sit down opposite each other, and eat their

dinner; she ate as little as possible, herself, to avoid any extra
expense, but would stuff him so with food that he would finally go to

sleep. At the first stroke of vespers, she would wake him up, brush
his trousers, tie his cravat and walk to church with him, leaning on

his arm with maternal pride.
His parents always told him to get something out of her, either a

package of brown sugar, or soap, or brandy, and sometimes even money.
He brought her his clothes to mend, and she accepted the task gladly,

because it meant another visit from him.
In August, his father took him on a coasting-vessel.

It was vacation time and the arrival of the children consoled
Felicite. But Paul was capricious, and Virginia was growing too old to

be thee-and-thou'd, a fact which seemed to produce a sort of
embarrassment in their relations.

Victor went successively to Morlaix, to Dunkirk, and to Brighton;
whenever he returned from a trip he would bring her a present. The

first time it was a box of shells; the second, a coffee-cup; the
third, a big doll of ginger-bread. He was growing handsome, had a good

figure, a tiny moustache, kind eyes, and a little leather cap that sat
jauntily on the back of his head. He amused his aunt by telling her

stories mingled with nautical expressions.
One Monday, the 14th of July, 1819 (she never forgot the date), Victor

announced that he had been engaged on a merchant-vessel and that in
two days he would take the steamer at Honfleur and join his sailer,

which was going to start from Havre very soon. Perhaps he might be
away two years.

The prospect of his departure filled Felicite with despair, and in
order to bid him farewell, on Wednesday night, after Madame's dinner,

she put on her pattens and trudged the four miles that separated Pont-
l'Eveque from Honfleur.

When she reached the Calvary, instead of turning to the right, she
turned to the left and lost herself in coal-yards; she had to retrace

her steps; some people she spoke to advised her to hasten. She walked
helplessly around the harbour filled with vessels, and knocked against

hawsers. Presently the ground sloped abruptly, lights flitted to and
fro, and she thought all at once that she had gone mad when she saw

some horses in the sky.
Others, on the edge of the dock, neighed at the sight of the ocean. A

derrick pulled them up in the air, and dumped them into a boat, where
passengers were bustling about among barrels of cider, baskets of

cheese and bags of meal; chickens cackled, the captain swore and a
cabin-boy rested on the railing, apparentlyindifferent to his

surroundings. Felicite, who did not recognise him, kept shouting:
"Victor!" He suddenly raised his eyes, but while she was preparing to

rush up to him, they withdrew the gangplank.
The packet, towed by singing women, glided out of the harbour. Her

hull squeaked and the heavy waves beat up against her sides. The sail
had turned and nobody was visible;--and on the ocean, silvered by the

light of the moon, the vessel formed a black spot that grew dimmer and
dimmer, and finally disappeared.

When Felicite passed the Calvary again, she felt as if she must
entrust that which was dearest to her to the Lord; and for a long

while she prayed, with uplifted eyes and a face wet with tears. The
city was sleeping; some customs officials were taking the air; and the

water kept pouring through the holes of the dam with a deafening roar.
The town clock struck two.

The parlour of the convent would not open until morning, and surely a
delay would annoy Madame, so, in spite of her desire to see the other

child, she went home. The maids of the inn were just arising when she
reached Pont-l'Eveque.

So the poor boy would be on the ocean for months! His previous trips
had not alarmed her. One can come back from England and Brittany; but

America, the colonies, the islands, were all lost in an uncertain
region at the very end of the world.

From that time on, Felicite thought solely of her nephew. On warm days
she feared he would suffer from thirst, and when it stormed, she was

afraid he would be struck by lightning. When she harkened to the wind
that rattled in the chimney and dislodged the tiles on the roof, she

imagined that he was being buffeted by the same storm, perched on top
of a shattered mast, with his whole body bend backward and covered

with sea-foam; or,--these were recollections of the engraved geography
--he was being devoured by savages, or captured in a forest by apes,

or dying on some lonely coast. She never mentioned her anxieties,
however.

Madame Aubain worried about her daughter.
The sisters thought that Virginia was affectionate but delicate. The

slightest motion" target="_blank" title="n.感情；情绪；激动">emotion enervated her. She had to give up her piano lessons.
Her mother insisted upon regular letters from the convent. One

morning, when the postman failed to come, she grew impatient and began
to pace to and fro, from her chair to the window. It was really

extraordinary! No news since four days!
In order to console her mistress by her own example, Felicite said:

"Why, Madame, I haven't had any news since six months!--"
"From whom?--"

The servant replied gently:
"Why--from my nephew."

"Oh, yes, your nephew!" And shrugging her shoulders, Madame Aubain
continued to pace the floor as if to say: "I did not think of it.--

Besides, I do not care, a cabin-boy, a pauper!--but my daughter--what
a difference! just think of it!--"

Felicite, although she had been reared roughly, was very indignant.
Then she forgot about it.

It appeared quite natural to her that one should lose one's head about
Virginia.

The two children were of equal importance; they were united in her
heart and their fate was to be the same.