One April morning, Mme. Descoutures called for Germaine to accompany her to Clermont, one of the suburbs of Paris, a little beyond Versailles. They were both muffled in furs, but beyond this there was very little resemblance in their attire. Germaine, plainly dressed in black, drew all eyes by her sweet fresh beauty; while Corinne, in addition to her striking costume, wore an immense hat, loaded with feathers and flowers. As long as they were in the train, the other travelers merely smiled quietly to themselves; but when they reached Clermont, it was mortifying for Germaine at least, as the whole population turned out to gaze at this absurd apparition. They climbed on doorsteps and fences to look at her. Corinne was delighted at what she called her triumph; how they all seemed to admire her! how they stared!
They were passing in front of the old castle, which is now used as a prison for women. As they passed along beneath its gloomy walls, they heard voices singing, sad and sweet. Germaine listened. It sounded as if they were singing a dirge. A few steps farther and they were opposite the gate, and Germaine heard a pure, velvety voice singing the De Profundis slowly and richly, as it is chanted in church. She saw the gatekeeper placidly smoking his pipe in front of the gate.
"Why are they singing a dirge?" she asked him.
"One of the prisoners is dead," he replied, politely taking off his cap.
Germaine shivered: "Dead? she is free then. How sad it must be to die in a prison!"
The gatekeeper had never thought of that. He shook his head sadly.
Corinne stood waiting for Germaine. What could she find to say to an old man like that? She called her:
"Come, child, it is cold."
"Please wait a few minutes!"