afterwards heard, to a long illness, the worst she ever had; and when
she recovered it was to find that her beautiful mother was no more.

[Illustration:]

Madame Seraskier died of the cholera, and so did le Pere et la Mere
Francois, and Madame Pele, and one of the Napoleonic prisoners (not M.
le Major), and several other people we had known, including a servant of
our own, Therese, the devoted Therese, to whom we were all devoted in
return. That malodorous tocsin, which I have compared to the big bell of
Notre Dame, had warned, and warned, and warned in vain.

The _maison de sante_ was broken up. M. le Major and his friends went
and roosted on parole elsewhere, until a good time arrived for them,
when their lost leader came back and remained--first as President of the
French Republic, then as Emperor of the French themselves. No more
parole was needed after that.

My grandmother and Aunt Plunket and her children fled in terror to
Tours, and Mimsey went to Russia with her father.

Thus miserably ended that too happy septennate, and so no more at
present of

"_Le joli lieu de ma naissance_!"




Part Two