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Julien found her there one night as he was coming in late from dining at the Fourvilles, and after that she was locked into her room every evening to compel her to stay in bed. At the beginning of September Aunt Lison went away, and her absence was as unnoticed as her presence had been. One evening, after dinner, the curé called at the château.

"I am going to bed, too," he said, and went up with his wife. Then Aunt Lison rose in her turn, and leaving on the arm of the chair her canvas with the wool and the knitting needles, she went over and leaned on the window sill and gazed out at the night. The two lovers kept on walking back and forth between the house and the wood.

Lison arrived at the château about the middle of July, quite upset by the idea of the marriage; she brought a great many presents which did not receive much attention as she was the giver, and the day after her arrival no one noticed she was there.

At other times she thought of the peaceful years of Paul's childhood of how he used to make her tend the salad plants, and of how she and Aunt Lison used to kneel on the ground, each trying to outdo the other in giving pleasure to the boy, and in rearing the greater number of plants.

They awaited the time of their union without very much impatience, vaguely desiring more passionate embraces, and yet satisfied with a slight caress, a pressure of the hand, a gaze so long that each seemed to read the other's heart through their eyes. No one was to be asked to the wedding besides Aunt Lison, the baroness's sister, who was a lady-boarder in a convent at Versailles.

There is recorded in Germany an account of a woman of ninety who had dentition at forty-seven and sixty-seven, each time a new set of teeth appearing; Hunter and Petrequin have observed similar cases. Carter describes an example of third dentition. Lison makes a curious observation of a sixth dentition. Edentulousness.

Jeanne, unprepared for this, answered, "Yes," and this simple word decided her, and without saying a word to her father, she asked Aunt Lison to take the boy to the catechism class. All went well for a month, but one day Paul came home with a hoarseness and the following day he coughed.

If anyone wished to speak to her, they sent a servant to call her, and if she was not there, they did not bother about her, never thought of her, never thought of troubling themselves so much as to say: "Why, I have not seen Aunt Lison this morning!" When they said "Aunt Lison," these two words awakened no feeling of affection in anyone's mind.

The baron cast a glance across the spacious garden where the two forms were wandering slowly. "Let them alone," he said; "it is so delicious outside! Lison will wait for them, will you not, Lison?" The old maid raised her troubled eyes and replied in her timid voice: "Certainly, I will wait for them." Little father gave his hand to the baroness, weary himself from the heat of the day.

"Leave them alone," he answered, "it is so pleasant out of doors; Lison will wait up for them; won't you, Lison?" The old maid looked up, and answered in her timid voice: "Oh, yes, certainly." The baron helped his wife to rise, and, tired himself by the heat of the day, "I will go to bed, too," he said. And he went upstairs with the baroness.