Basile, as he wiped the tears from his eyes, happened to strike his arm
against the chord of Madame de Fleury's harp, and the sound echoed
through the room.
"Before this year is at an end," cried Victoire, "perhaps that harp will
be struck again in this Chateau by Madame de Fleury herself. Last night
we could hardly have hoped to see these walls standing this morning, and
yet it is safe--not a stone touched! Oh, we shall all live, I hope, to
see better times!"
Sister Frances smiled, for she would not depress Victoire's enthusiastic
hope: to please her, the good nun added, that she felt better this
morning than she had felt for months, and Victoire was happier than she
had been since Madame de Fleury left France. But, alas! it was only a
transient gleam. Sister Frances relapsed and declined so rapidly, that
even Victoire, whose mind was almost always disposed to hope, despaired
of her recovery. With placid resignation, or rather with mild
confidence, this innocent and benevolent creature met the approach of
death. She seemed attached to earth only by affection for those whom she
was to leave in this world. Two of the youngest of the children who had
formerly been placed under her care, and who were not yet able to earn
their own subsistence, she kept with her, and in the last days of her
life she continued her instructions to them with the fond solicitude of a
parent.
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