These were the only mourners. Yet this was a woman whose
wit and beauty and charm had won a European reputation, a woman whose
funeral, if it had taken place in London, would have been recorded in
pompous newspaper paragraphs, as a sort of aristocratic rite, if she
had not committed the sweetest of crimes, a crime always expiated in
this world, so that the pardoned spirit may enter heaven. Marie cried
when they threw the earth on his mother's coffin; he understood that
he should see her no more.
A simple, wooden cross, set up to mark her grave, bore this
inscription, due to the cure of Saint-Cyr:--
HERE LIES
AN UNHAPPY WOMAN,
WHO DIED AT THE AGE OF THIRTY-SIX.
KNOWN IN HEAVEN BY THE NAME OF AUGUSTA.
_Pray for her!_
When all was over, the children came back to La Grenadiere to take a
last look at their home; then, hand in hand, they turned to go with
Annette, leaving the vinedresser in charge, with directions to hand
over everything duly to the proper authorities.
At this moment, Annette called to Louis from the steps by the kitchen
door, and took him aside with, "Here is madame's ring, Monsieur
Louis."
The sight of this vivid remembrance of his dead mother moved him so
deeply that he wept.
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