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The air here is so clear, that at this height we saw it distinctly. M. Pictet de Rochemont, brother to our old friend, has taken most kind pains to translate the best passages from my father's Memoirs for the Bibliotheque Universelle. We were yesterday at his house with a large party, and met Madame Necker de Saussure much more agreeable than her book.
In the time of Mademoiselle de Rochemont they had always been made comfortable and happy at Christmas. What was to be done? The curé ventured to write to Mademoiselle Elizabeth. The poor child had scarcely slept at all. Her dear village! Her dear people! The children would be hungry; the cows would die; there would be no fires to warm those who were old.
"Do you think she is a happy child?" he asked Monsieur de Rochemont when they were alone together over their cigars and wine. "Happy?" said Uncle Bertrand, with his light smile. "She has been taught, my friend, that to be happy upon earth is a crime. That was my good sister's creed. One must devote one's self, not to happiness, but entirely to good works.
Her Aunt Clotilde lived in Normandy her Uncle Bertrand in New York. As these two were her only guardians, and as Bertrand de Rochemont was a gay bachelor, fond of pleasure and knowing nothing of babies, it was natural that he should be very willing that his elder sister should undertake the rearing and education of the child.
So, in this secluded world in the gray old château, with no companion but her aunt, with no occupation but her studies and her charities, with no thoughts but those of saints and religious exercises, Elizabeth lived until she was eleven years old. Then a great grief befell her. One morning, Mademoiselle de Rochemont did not leave her room at the regular hour.
I thought the Saints the Saints " But her sobs filled her throat, and she could not finish. Dr. Norris stopped, and took her in his strong arms as if she had been a baby. "Quick!" he said, imperatively; "we must return to the carriage, De Rochemont. This is a serious matter." Elizabeth clung to him with trembling hands. "But the poor woman who starves?" she cried.
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