father is waiting to do up his house till this restitution is made,
the king's architect having estimated the damage at three hundred
thousand livres.

This piece of news flung me back despairing on my drawing-room sofa.
Could it be that my father, instead of spending this money in
arranging a marriage for me, would have left me to die in the convent?
This was the first thought to greet me on the threshold of my home.

Ah! Renee, what would I have given then to rest my head upon your
shoulder, or to transport myself to the days when my grandmother made
the life of these rooms? You two in all the world have been alone in
loving me--you away at Maucombe, and she who survives only in my
heart, the dear old lady, whose still youthful eyes used to open from
sleep at my call. How well we understood each other!

These memories suddenly changed my mood. What at first had seemed
profanation, now breathed of holy association. It was sweet to inhale
the faint odor of the powder she loved still lingering in the room;
sweet to sleep beneath the shelter of those yellow damask curtains
with their white pattern, which must have retained something of the
spirit emanating from her eyes and breath. I told Philippe to rub up
the old furniture and make the rooms look as if they were lived in; I
explained to him myself how I wanted everything arranged, and where to
put each piece of furniture. In this way I entered into possession,
and showed how an air of youth might be given to the dear old things.

The bedroom is white in color, a little dulled with time, just as the
gilding of the fanciful arabesques shows here and there a patch of
red; but this effect harmonizes well with the faded colors of the