The Girls Own Paper, Vol. VIII, No. 357, October 30, 1886 | Page 4

he must go and strike the blow which would perhaps kill her. Père

Yvon was indeed right; his jealousy was truly bringing a terrible
punishment in its train, and the baron buried his face in his hands, and
sobs of bitterest grief shook his whole frame. At last, rousing himself,
he went to the door of the study where the chaplain was engaged
teaching the younger boys, and beckoned him out. Père Yvon saw at a
glance by the baron's pale, scared face, as well as by the telegram he
held in his hand, that something terrible had happened, and drawing
Arnaud into the nearest room, he asked eagerly what was the matter.
The baron answered by placing the telegram in his hands, and paced the
room in a frenzy while Père Yvon read it. The chaplain's first thought
was for the poor widowed mother, whose darling son was thus cut off
in the beauty of his youth. He had known her so many years, and had
comforted her in so many sorrows, it was natural he should think of her
first, before the other mother, who had her husband to comfort her, and
whose child was only an infant of a few months old.
"La pauvre baronne! My poor madame! It will break her heart: her
darling son," murmured the chaplain.
"Ah, poor Léon. I can't realise it yet that we shall never see him again,
and my poor, innocent baby too; it will kill Mathilde. Oh, mon père,
how are we to tell them?" groaned the baron.
"I will tell your mother; it is not the first time I have been the bearer of
ill news to her, and you must break it as gently as you can to your wife.
It is a sad day indeed for this household, but the Lord's will be done. He
knows best, and He will not send any of us more than we are able to
bear," replied Père Yvon, as he went on his sad mission to the old
baroness.
As he had said, he had broken many sorrows to her, but he had never
had to deal a heavier blow than when he told her her favourite son was
drowned, the son of whom she was so proud, whom she loved better
than all her other children; but the baroness was a saintly woman, and
one of her first sayings after she heard the news was, "Mon père, it is
hard, but it is just--he was my idol."
She did not grieve in any extravagant way; she did not absent herself

from any meals; she attended mass, for she was a devout Catholic, in
the private chapel every morning, and, indeed, spent a great deal of
time there in prayer; she never gave up one of her accustomed duties,
visited the poor as regularly as ever, but from the day she heard the sad
news to her death, which happened a few years later, she was scarcely
seen to smile again, and she was never heard to mention Léon's name
except to Père Yvon. Hers was a life-long sorrow, too deep for words,
too deep for even tears to assuage its poignancy; her heart was broken;
she had no further interest in this life; all her hopes were centred on that
life where she hoped to meet her darling son again, never to be
separated from him.
The young baroness bore her trial very differently. She gave way to a
passionate outburst of grief on learning that her baby was drowned--a
grief in which the baron shared, and was, indeed, in more need of
consolation than his wife, for to his sorrow was added remorse and
bitterest stings of conscience for having brought such sorrow to his
wife, about whom he was very anxious, until the doctor assured him the
sad certainty was even better for her than the terrible suspense she had
been enduring for the last week. To a young, passionate nature hitherto
undisciplined by the sorrows of life, like the young baroness's, anything
was easier to bear than suspense, and the doctor assured Arnaud that
the passionate grief in which his wife indulged would do her no
harm--on the contrary, she was more likely to get over it quickly.
Violent grief is rarely lasting; there invariably follows a reaction.
A few days later the baron received another telegram from the Havre
agents, telling him they had found out that the Hirondelle had left
Yarmouth, on the Norfolk coast, where she had been lying for two or
three days, the day before she was lost, and was then intending to cruise
round the coast of Great Britain. The baron was immediately raised
from the depths of despair to the highest pinnacle of hope on hearing
this, for he felt