Her firmness did not break down till the moment of departure. She cheered her tearful daughter in the name of the little one whom the young wife carried under her heart. But Paule could not resign herself. She kept on kissing her, hastened to speak again, and sometimes turned towards her husband to say to him: “I love you, dear, all the same; you know that.”
Madame Guibert insisted on going to the station with them. There they found several friends, who had come to say good-bye. M. Loigny was ill and had not been able to come out on account of the cold and the damp roads, but his Fanchette brought for his niece some hothouse flowers. Some distance away Madame de Marthenay, looking quite thin in spite of her furs and very pale, was watching a favorable moment to kiss Paule. The latter noticed her and came up to her. After a second’s hesitation the two women threw themselves into each other’s arms.
“Still unhappy?” Paule asked gently, reading the sorrow in her old friend’s face.
“Still. But what of you, Paule?”
They both turned to Madame Guibert. Very quickly Madame Berlier murmured: “Do you want to do me a great kindness, Alice? Go to see Mother often, look after her a little, and write to me about her health.”
“I promise you I will,” said Alice with deep emotion as they parted. Soon after Madame Guibert was left alone with her daughter and her son-in-law. As before, her last words at the moment of separation were a prayer: “May God keep you!” But when the train had carried them out of sight she touched her forehead and felt that it was icy-cold.
“It was time, my God,” she thought. “I had no more strength left.” She was forced to sit down in the third class waiting-room. The passengers who came and went, occupied with their luggage and their tickets, did not even notice the poor old woman in mourning who sat sobbing there. She had become a humble weak creature again. But she had had the strength to hide her suffering from her children.
Alone in the railway carriage with his beloved, Jean pressed her to his breast. She had quite broken down and her head leaned against the heart which beat for her only. He said nothing to her, knowing the uselessness of words. He gently stroked her cheek and from time to time bent down to kiss the eyes whose tears he could not stop. When she raised her head a little he comforted her by saying: “We will come back, Paule.” She shook her head, doubtful of this return, or because she did not yet wish to be consoled.
“I love you, Jean,” she sighed, and began to weep afresh.
Then he spoke to her of her mother.