be so kind as to--guess what, Louise! But only guess! But you never
could! Well, to darn some of her children's stockings for her. It was
God who inspired her, I am sure, on account of my praying so much to
him. You will be shocked, Louise, when I tell you. It sounds like a
sin, but I was not in despair when papa died. It was a grief,--yes,
it seized the heart, but it was not despair. Men ought not to be
subjected to the humiliation of life; they are not like women, you
know. We are made to stand things; they have their pride,--their
_orgueil_, as we say in French,--and that is the point of honor with
some men. And Clementine and I, we could not have concealed it much
longer. In fact, the truth was crying out everywhere, in the children,
in the house, in our own persons, in our faces. The darning did not
provide a superfluity, I guarantee you!

"Poor papa! He caught cold. He was condemned from the first. And so
all his fine qualities died; for he had fine qualities--they were too
fine for this age, that was all. Yes; it was a kindness of God to take
him before he found out. If it was to be, it was better. Just so with
Clementine as with me. After the funeral--crack! everything went to
pieces. We were at the four corners for the necessaries of life, and
the bills came in--my dear, the bills that came in! What memories!
what memories! Clementine and I exclaimed; there were some bills that
we had completely forgotten about. The lady next door sent her brother
over when papa died. He sat up all night, that night, and he assisted
us in all our arrangements. And he came in afterward, every evening.
If papa had been there, there would have been a fine scene over it; he
would have had to take the door, very likely. But now there was no one
to make objections. And so when, as I say, we were at the four corners
for the necessaries of life, he asked Clementine's permission to ask
me to marry him.