As soon as she caught sight of them, Felicite would run and notify her mistress.

But only one thing was capable of arousing her: a letter from her son.
He could not follow any profession as he was absorbed in drinking.
His mother paid his debts and he made fresh ones; and the sighs that she heaved while she knitted at the window reached the ears of Felicite who was spinning in the kitchen.
They walked in the garden together, always speaking of Virginia, and asking each other if such and such a thing would have pleased her, and what she would probably have said on this or that occasion.
All her little belongings were put away in a closet of the room which held the two little beds.

But Madame Aubain looked them over as little as possible.

One summer day, however, she resigned herself to the task and when she opened the closet the moths flew out.
Virginia's frocks were hung under a shelf where there were three dolls, some hoops, a doll-house, and a basin which she had used.
Felicite and Madame Aubain also took out the skirts, the handkerchiefs, and the stockings and spread them on the beds, before putting them away again.

The sun fell on the piteous things, disclosing their spots and the creases formed by the motions of the body.