Jeanne sank into a chair and had scarcely strength to call Rosalie.
When the maid came into the room they read the letter over together
and then remained silent for some time, face to face.
At last Rosalie said: "I am going to fetch the little one, madame. We
cannot leave it like that."
"Go, my girl," replied Jeanne.
Then they were silent until the maid said: "Put on your hat, madame,
and we will go to Goderville to see the lawyer. If she is going to
die, the other one, M. Paul must marry her for the little one's sake
later on."
Jeanne, without replying, put on her hat. A deep, inexpressible joy
filled her heart, a treacherous joy that she sought to hide at any
cost, one of those things of which one is ashamed, although cherishing
it in one's soul--her son's sweetheart was going to die.
The lawyer gave the servant minute instructions, making her repeat
them several times. Then, sure that she could make no mistake, she
said: "Do not be afraid. I will see to it now."
She set out for Paris that very night.
Jeanne passed two days in such a troubled condition that she could not
think. The third morning she received merely a line from Rosalie
saying she would be back on the evening train. That was all.
About three o'clock she drove in a neighbor's light wagon to the
station at Beuzeville to meet Rosalie.
She stood on the platform, looking at the railroad track as it
disappeared on the horizon. She looked at the clock. Ten minutes
still--five minutes still--two minutes more. Then the hour of the
train's arrival, but it was not in sight. Presently, however, she saw
a cloud of white smoke and gradually it drew up in the station. She
looked anxiously and at last perceived Rosalie carrying a sort of
white bundle in her arms.