So, day followed day, and there was but little said between the uncle and the niece, though heretofore--up to a time still within a fortnight of the present day--the whole business of the house had been managed by little whispered conferences between them.

'I think we'll do so and so, uncle;' or, 'Just you manage it yourself, Marie.' Such and such-like words had passed every morning and evening, with an understanding between them full and complete.

Now each was afraid of the other, and everything was astray.
But Marie was still gentle with the children: when she could be with them for half an hour, she would sit with them on her lap, or clustering round, kissing them and saying soft words to them,--even softer in her affection than had been her wont.

They understood as well as everybody else that something was wrong,--that there was to be some change as to Marie which perhaps would not be a change for the better; that there was cause for melancholy, for close kissing as though such kissing were in preparation for parting, and for soft strokings with their little hands as though Marie were to be pitied for that which was about to come upon her.

'Isn't somebody coming to take you away ?' little Michel asked her, when they were quite alone.