tinge, the lips grew blue, the nose grew pinched, the eyes were
sunken. She kissed them several times and would not have been
greatly astonished had Virginia opened them; to souls like these
the supernatural is always quite simple. She washed her, wrapped
her in a shroud, put her into the casket, laid a wreath of flowers
on her head and arranged her curls. They were blond and of an
extraordinary length for her age. Félicité cut off a big lock and
put half of it into her bosom, resolving never to part with it.

The body was taken to Pont-l'Evêque, according to Madame Aubain's
wishes; she followed the hearse in a closed carriage.

After the ceremony it took three quarters of an hour to reach the
cemetery. Paul, sobbing, headed the procession; Monsieur Bourais
followed, and then came the principal inhabitants of the town, the
women covered with black capes, and Félicité. The memory of her
nephew, and the thought that she had not been able to render him
these honours, made her doubly unhappy, and she felt as if he were
being buried with Virginia.

Madame Aubain's grief was uncontrollable. At first she rebelled
against God, thinking that he was unjust to have taken away her
child--she who had never done anything wrong, and whose conscience
was so pure! But no! she ought to have taken her South. Other
doctors would have saved her. She accused herself, prayed to be
able to join her child, and cried in the midst of her dreams. Of
the latter, one more especially haunted her. Her husband, dressed
like a sailor, had come back from a long voyage, and with tears in
his eyes told her that he had received the order to take Virginia
away. Then they both consulted about a hiding-place.