Her tub and her board were on the bank of the Toucques. She threw
a heap of clothes on the ground, rolled up her sleeves and grasped
her bat; and her loud pounding could be heard in the neighbouring
gardens. The meadows were empty, the breeze wrinkled the stream,
at the bottom of which were long grasses that looked like the hair
of corpses floating in the water. She restrained her sorrow and
was very brave until night; but, when she had gone to her own
room, she gave way to it, burying her face in the pillow and
pressing her two fists against her temples.

A long while afterward, she learned through Victor's captain, the
circumstances which surrounded his death. At the hospital they had
bled him too much, treating him for yellow fever. Four doctors
held him at one time. He died almost instantly, and the chief
surgeon had said:

"Here goes another one!"

His parents had always treated him barbarously; she preferred not
to see them again, and they made no advances, either from
forgetfulness or out of innate hardness.

Virginia was growing weaker.

A cough, continual fever, oppressive breathing and spots on her
cheeks indicated some serious trouble. Monsieur Poupart had
advised a sojourn in Provence. Madame Aubain decided that they
would go, and she would have had her daughter come home at once,
had it not been for the climate of Pont-l'Evêque.