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trenches which divided the plain into meadows of unequal size； and
caressing the groups of horses and carts； men； women； children； and
cattle。 The cattlemen and the shepherd…girls were beginning to collect
their flocks to the sound of rustic horns。
The scene was noisy； yet silent；a paradoxical statement； which will
surprise only those to whom the character of country life is still
unknown。 From all sides came the carts； laden with fragrant fodder。
There was something； I know not what； of torpor in the scene。
Veronique walked slowly and silently between Gerard and the rector；
who had joined her on the terrace。
Through the openings made by the rural lanes running down below the
terrace to the main street of Montegnac Gerard and Monsieur Bonnet
could see the faces of men； women； and children turned toward them；
watching more particularly； no doubt； for Madame Graslin。 How much of
tenderness and gratitude was expressed on those faces！ How many
benedictions followed Veronique's footsteps！ With what reverent
attention were the three benefactors of a whole community regarded！
Man was adding a hymn of gratitude to the other chants of evening。
While Madame Graslin walked on with her eyes fastened on the long；
magnificent green pastures； her most cherished creation； the priest
and the mayor did not take their eyes from the groups below； whose
expression it was impossible to misinterpret； pain； sadness； and
regret； mingled with hope； were plainly on all those faces。 No one in
Montegnac or its neighborhood was ignorant that Monsieur Roubaud had
gone to Paris to bring the best physician science afforded； or that
the benefactress of the whole district was in the last stages of a
fatal illness。 In all the markets through a circumference of thirty
miles the peasants asked those of Montegnac；
〃How is your good woman now？〃
The great vision of death hovered over the land； and dominated that
rural picture。 Afar； in the fields； more than one reaper sharpening
his scythe； more than one young girl； her arms resting on her fork；
more than one farmer stacking his hay； seeing Madame Graslin； stood
mute and thoughtful； examining that noble woman； the blessing of the
Correze； seeking some favorable sign or merely looking to admire her；
impelled by a feeling that arrested their work。
〃She is out walking； therefore she must be better。〃
These simple words were on every lip。
Madame Graslin's mother； seated on the iron bench which Veronique had
formerly placed at the end of the terrace； studied every movement of
her daughter； she watched her step in walking； and a few tears rolled
from her eyes。 Aware of the secret efforts of that superhuman courage；
she knew that Veronique at that moment was suffering the tortures of a
horrible agony； and only maintained herself erect by the exercise of
her heroic will。 The tearsthey seemed almost redwhich forced their
way from those aged eyes； and furrowed that wrinkled face； the
parchment of which seemed incapable of softening under any emotion；
excited those of young Graslin； whom Monsieur Ruffin had between his
knees。
〃What is the matter； my boy？〃 said the tutor； anxiously。
〃My grandmother is crying；〃 he answered。
Monsieur Ruffin； whose eyes were on Madame Graslin as she came toward
them； now looked at Madame Sauviat； and was powerfully struck by the
aspect of that old head； like that of a Roman matron； petrified with
grief and moistened with tears。
〃Madame； why did you not prevent her from coming out？〃 said the tutor
to the old mother； august and sacred in her silent grief。
As Veronique advanced majestically with her naturally fine and
graceful step； Madame Sauviat； driven by despair at the thought of
surviving her daughter； allowed the secret of many things that
awakened curiosity to escape her。
〃How can she walk like that；〃 she cried； 〃wearing a horrible horsehair
shirt； which pricks into her skin perpetually？〃
The words horrified the young man； who was not insensible to the
exquisite grace of Veronique's movements； he shuddered as he thought
of the constant and terrific struggle of the soul to maintain its
empire thus over the body。
〃She has worn it thirteen years；ever since she ceased to nurse the
boy；〃 said the old woman。 〃She has done miracles here； but if her
whole life were known they ought to canonize her。 Since she came to
Montegnac no one has ever seen her eat； and do you know why？ Aline
serves her three times a day a piece of dry bread； and vegetables
boiled in water； without salt； on a common plate of red earth like
those they feed the dogs on。 Yes； that's how the woman lives who has
given new life to this whole canton。 She kneels to say her prayers on
the edge of that hair…shirt。 She says she could not have that smiling
air you know she always has unless she practised these austerities。 I
tell you this；〃 added the old woman； sinking her voice； 〃so that you
may repeat it to the doctor that Monsieur Roubaud has gone to fetch。
If they could prevent my daughter from continuing these penances；
perhaps they might still save her； though death has laid its hand upon
her head。 See for yourself！ Ah！ I must be strong indeed to have borne
so many things these fifteen years。〃
The old woman took her grandson's hand and passed it over her forehead
and cheeks as if the child's touch shed a healing balm there； then she
kissed it with an affection the secret of which belongs to
grandmothers as much as it belongs to mothers。
Veronique was now only a few feet from the bench； in company with
Clousier； the rector； and Gerard。 Illuminated by the glow of the
setting sun； she shone with a dreadful beauty。 Her yellow forehead；
furrowed with long wrinkles massed one above the other like layers of
clouds； revealed a fixed thought in the midst of inward troubles。 Her
face； devoid of all color； entirely white with the dead； greenish
whiteness of plants without light； was thin； though not withered； and
bore the signs of terrible physical sufferings produced by mental
anguish。 She fought her soul with her body； and /vice versa/。 She was
so completely destroyed that she no more resembled herself than an old
woman resembles her portrait as a girl。 The ardent expression of her
eyes declared the despotic empire exercised by a devout will over a
body reduced to what religion requires it to be。 In this woman the
soul dragged the flesh as the Achilles of profane story dragged
Hector； for fifteen years she dragged it victoriously along the stony
paths of life around the celestial Jerusalem she hoped to enter； not
by a vile deception； but with acclamation。 No solitary that ever lived
in the dry and arid deserts of Africa was ever more master of his
senses than was Veronique in her magnificent chateau； among the soft；
voluptuous scenery of that opulent land； beneath the protecting mantle
of that rich forest； whence science； the heir of Moses' wand； had
called forth plenty； prosperity； and happiness for a whole region。 She
contemplated the results of twelve years' patience； a work which might
have made the fame of many a superior man； with a gentle modesty such
as Pontorno has painted in the sublime face of