The sky was becoming pink, a joyous, love-inspiring, enchanting pink.
She looked at it in surprise, as at some phenomenon, this radiant
break of day, and asked herself if it were possible that, on a planet
where such dawns were found, there should be neither joy nor
happiness.
A noise at the door made her start. It was Julien. "Well," he said,
"are you not very tired?"
She murmured, "No," happy at being no longer alone. "Go and rest now,"
he said. She kissed her mother a long, sad kiss; then she went to her
room.
The next day passed in the usual attentions to the dead. The baron
arrived toward evening. He wept for some time.
The funeral took place the following day. After pressing a last kiss
on her mother's icy forehead and seeing the coffin nailed down, Jeanne
left the room. The invited guests would soon arrive.
Gilberte was the first to come, and she threw herself sobbing on her
friend's shoulder. Women in black presently entered the room one after
another, people whom Jeanne did not know. The Marquise de Coutelier
and the Vicomtesse de Briseville embraced her. She suddenly saw Aunt
Lison gliding in behind her. She turned round and kissed her tenderly.
Julien came in, dressed all in black, elegant, very important, pleased
at seeing so many people. He asked his wife some question in a low
tone and added confidentially: "All the nobility are here; it will be
a fine affair." And he walked away, gravely bowing to the ladies. Aunt
Lison and Comtesse Gilberte alone remained with Jeanne during the
service for the dead. The comtesse kissed her repeatedly, exclaiming:
"My poor dear, my poor dear!"
When Comte de Fourville came to fetch his wife he was also crying as
though it were for his own mother.