Then Madame Aubain had a fainting spell, and that evening all her
friends, including the two Lormeaus, Madame Lechaptois, the ladies
Rochefeuille, Messieurs de Houppeville and Bourais, called on her and
tendered their sympathy.

At first the separation proved very painful to her. But her daughter
wrote her three times a week and the other days she, herself, wrote to
Virginia. Then she walked in the garden, read a little, and in this way
managed to fill out the emptiness of the hours.

Each morning, out of habit, Felicite entered Virginia's room and gazed
at the walls. She missed combing her hair, lacing her shoes, tucking her
in her bed, and the bright face and little hand when they used to go out
for a walk. In order to occupy herself she tried to make lace. But her
clumsy fingers broke the threads; she had no heart for anything, lost
her sleep and "wasted away," as she put it.

In order to have some distraction, she asked leave to receive the visits
of her nephew Victor.

He would come on Sunday, after church, with ruddy cheeks and bared
chest, bringing with him the scent of the country. She would set the
table and they would sit down opposite each other, and eat their dinner;
she ate as little as possible, herself, to avoid any extra expense, but
would stuff him so with food that he would finally go to sleep. At the
first stroke of vespers, she would wake him up, brush his trousers, tie
his cravat and walk to church with him, leaning on his arm with maternal
pride.