"Mamma."
He had expected to find a carelessness, a feminine indulgence in the education of the two children, and he discovered instead an unexpected development and liveliness of intelligence and body to which he had contributed nothing. His desertion had not brought with it any loss to them. Instead of giving to Elizabeth the credit for it, he was irritated by it, because it seems cruel to us to discover how unimportant our influence may be.
The little boy was the first to tire of these effusions and put questions which referred to unimportant events in his life, which were insolvable to anyone who had not been directly concerned in them. Marie Louise herself even discontinued her playfulness and fancies, in order to explain to her brother that Papa could not know, that after all Papa was only an amateur father, who was very little in touch with their doings and movements. This was the meaning of her remarks which she uttered in her little decided authoritative voice. Mamma,—she never left them, except to look after Grandmamma.
"It is I who am the stranger here," thought Albert, suffering from such frankness.
The conquest of children, even of his own, could not be undertaken in an hour. He left Marie Louise and Philippe, his heart sick with disappointment, his nerves wrung. As soon as he no longer saw their dear little heads, he was filled with an immediate wish to bring them back, to keep them with him, without saying anything to her who had separated them. And when he came back to his mother's house he took with him an added regret, a deep melancholy which Anne's love could no more satisfy than it could his grief for his mother. He remained in the death chamber until evening, filled with despair in relinquishing one by one the ties which had exalted his life. The next day, spent in the same way, was even more cruel to him. He had a letter and a telegram from Anne who was awaiting him at Lyons. He read them absently and in a spirit of injustice! What could she know of his thoughts?
When on the morning of the funeral he again saw Elizabeth, who came to do the honors of the house, he wished he had been mistaken the evening before in finding that her expression was changed, that she was more awakened and bearing alone a sorrow as great as his own. She asked him complacently how he was, but pitied him with her looks, with her entire uneasy attitude, friendly and dismayed at one and the same time. The Molay-Norrois arrived in their turn, and manifested an attitude of discreet sympathy toward their son-in-law. Then came other relations and friends. He was accepted once more by the family connections, relatives and the social circle with which he had believed all ties were broken. And in his great pride he endured it with bitterness.
The report was circulated in Grenoble that the death of Mme. Derize had reconciled the separated couple. Each one in the large crowd determined to watch for indications of it: to our utmost pity we add so much curiosity and such sudden indifference. The funeral procession was the object of attentive inspection to everyone, from Mme. Passerat, who, having loaned her motor to the invalid, prided herself upon a personal interest, to the little clerk Malaunay, who was concerned in it because of his bet. Elizabeth wished to take her place with the relations who were the chief mourners, behind her husband and her father who followed the hearse. By her presence, she showed besides her affection for the dead woman, her unwavering faithfulness to the name she bore.
The cemetery is only a short distance from the Cathedral, which is the parish church of the Boulevard des Adieux. They had only to go through a gate in the old ramparts and along the avenue L'Ile Verte, all covered with dead leaves, which were crushed beneath the horses' hoofs and the feet of the mourners. The moment when the coffin is lowered into the ground, is one of the most anguish-filled that a loving heart has to bear. Albert instinctively lifted his hand to his eyes. A vision interposed between himself and his sorrow—that of Elizabeth overwhelmed. Did he remember that sentence in his diary: "She does not know my mother—she will never know her. If I were to have the misfortune of losing her, I should mourn for her alone."
On the return, although crushed, she received the procession of guests who came to pay their condolence calls, then went upstairs to give some orders to the old servant. Albert came back, accompanied by Philippe Lagier. Having completed her self-imposed duty, she greeted Philippe with an "Au revoir" and turning to her husband, said:
"Now good-by, keep up your courage."