So she arose and left the room.
Her tub and her board were on the bank of the Toucques.

She threw a heap of clothes on the ground, rolled up her sleeves and grasped her bat; and her loud pounding could be heard in the neighbouring gardens.

The meadows were empty, the breeze wrinkled the stream, at the bottom of which were long grasses that looked like the hair of corpses floating in the water.

She restrained her sorrow and was very brave until night; but, when she had gone to her own room, she gave way to it, burying her face in the pillow and pressing her two fists against her temples.
A long while afterward, she learned through Victor's captain, the circumstances which surrounded his death.

At the hospital they had bled him too much, treating him for yellow fever.