mother's training. Their threefold life, seemingly one life, called up
vague, fond thoughts; it was like a vision of the dreamed-of bliss of
a better world. And the three, so attuned to each other, lived in
truth such a life as one might picture for them at first sight--the
ordered, simple, and regular life best suited for a child's education.

Both children rose an hour after daybreak and repeated a short prayer,
a habit learned in their babyhood. For seven years the sincere
petition had been put up every morning on their mother's bed, and
begun and ended by a kiss. Then the two brothers went through their
morning toilet as scrupulously as any pretty woman; doubtless they had
been trained in habits of minute attention to the person, so necessary
to health of body and mind, habits in some sort conducive to a sense
of wellbeing. Conscientiously they went through their duties, so
afraid were they lest their mother should say when she kissed them at
breakfast-time, "My darling children, where can you have been to have
such black finger-nails already?" Then the two went out into the
garden and shook off the dreams of the night in the morning air and
dew, until sweeping and dusting operations were completed, and they
could learn their lessons in the sitting-room until their mother
joined them. But although it was understood that they must not go to
their mother's room before a certain hour, they peeped in at the door
continually; and these morning inroads, made in defiance of the
original compact, were delicious moments for all three. Marie sprang
upon the bed to put his arms around his idolized mother, and Louis,
kneeling by the pillow, took her hand in his. Then came inquiries,
anxious as a lover's, followed by angelic laughter, passionate
childish kisses, eloquent silences, lisping words, and the little
ones' stories interrupted and resumed by a kiss, stories seldom
finished, though the listener's interest never failed.