“A stifled groan from the girl when he named her brother was the only sound for a moment. Then she turned again.
”‘For his sake!—a strange revenge,’ she muttered. Then she said aloud, though speaking softly—
”‘Be ready then—all three of you. In two hours I will be back. But you have made it much more difficult for me, and for yourselves,’ and with these words she was gone.
“Pierre hastened to tell Edmée that she had given in, and together they set to work to arrange the few, terribly few things belonging to the Countess and her daughter, so that they would be ready to carry away. Edmond seemed dazed and stupid. His cousin had to pack for him too; he would scarcely speak, and seemed indifferent to everything. Pierre dared not leave Edmée alone, and yet he was anxious to go back to pay his poor landlady a little sum he owed her, and to collect his own little bundle. It was a dreadful afternoon. Every sound on the stairs made Edmée start and shiver with horror, and yet every time she glanced at the still, cold form on the bed, her heart seemed to burst with fresh agony at the thought of deserting all that was left her of her mother.
“The thankfulness of both Pierre and the young girl was great when, an hour after Marguerite had left, Sister Angelique returned with the priest in disguise. They had already made arrangements for the burial of the Countess. It was to be in the night, so that in secret, with the help of one or two he could trust, the good priest would be able to read the service for the dead. He did not tell—and not till long afterwards did Edmée know—that for the necessary expense he had parted with his watch, the last remains of his happier days! Pierre hurried to his lodgings, whence he returned only just in time, for Marguerite was already waiting. She had brought a gown of her own, which she had shortened for Edmée, and made Pierre dress Edmond in the suit he had in his bundle, replacing it by that which young de Sarinet had hitherto worn. He submitted, but in silence, and with no word of thanks. Pierre thought him merely dazed and stupid with sorrow, but Marguerite darted angry looks at him with her dark eyes.
”‘You will wish you had taken my advice about him before you get to the end of your journey,’ she muttered to Pierre.
“Then she gave them directions. They were to start at once, walking quietly through the town till they came to a little wine-shop in a street which she clearly described to them.
”‘There you must ask for the Citizeness Dupuis,’ she said. ‘She is a short stout woman. She will say little to you, but you may trust her. She will give you a good dinner in the room behind the shop, and there you must stay till I come. Pay no attention to anything you see or hear—be deaf and dumb. I will bring your things with me, and what you cannot carry away will be kept for you till I can send it to Valmont.’
“In the same dry, hard manner she stood by while Edmée, in a passion of grief, threw herself on the bed where lay her mother, and kissed for the last time the soft white face already cold with the iciness of death. Sister Angelique had drawn Edmond aside, and was whispering good advice to him, which he seemed to receive more meekly than might have been expected; but even she, trained as she was to Self-control through the most painful scenes, broke down when Edmée at last tore herself away from the Countess’s room, and sobbed her farewell in the kind Sister’s arms.
”‘Good-bye, my child. The good Father and I will do all we can—trust us. In more peaceful days you may be able to visit her grave. God bless you, my sweet child, and take comfort in the thought that to-day’s sorrow might have come in a more terrible form.’