The Huberts, resolute and grave, waited in silent despair.

Notwithstanding their grief and tears, it was evidently necessary that this should be the end.
If they had ever wished for this death, preferring to lose their dear child rather than to have her rebellious, it was evident that God also wished it with them, and now, that in this last trying moment they were quite powerless, they could only submit themselves to the inevitable.
They regretted nothing, although their sorrow seemed greater than they could bear.

Since she, their darling, had been there, suffering from her long illness, they had taken the entire care of her day and night, refusing all aid offered them from outside.

They were still there alone in this supreme hour, and they waited.
Hubert, scarcely knowing what he did, walked mechanically to the porcelain stove, the door of which he opened, for the gentle roaring of the flaming wood sounded to him like a plaintive moan; then there was a perfect silence.

The peonies seemed even to turn paler in the soft heat of the room.
Hubertine, stronger than her husband, and still fully conscious of all she did, listened to the sounds of the Cathedral as they came to her from behind the walls.