Finally, one
day, an old _fiacre_ stopped in front of the door and a nun
stepped out. Felicite put Virginia's luggage on top of the
carriage, gave the coachman some instructions, and smuggled six
jars of jam, a dozen pears and a bunch of violets under the seat.
At the last minute, Virginia had a fit of sobbing; she embraced
her mother again and again, while the latter kissed her on her
forehead, and said: "Now, be brave, be brave!" The step was pulled
up and the _fiacre_ rumbled off.
Then Madame Aubain had a fainting spell, and that evening all her
friends, including the two Lormeaus, Madame Lechaptois, the ladies
Rochefeuille, Messieurs de Houppeville and Bourais, called on her
and tendered their sympathy.
At first the separation proved very painful to her. But her
daughter wrote her three times a week and the other days she,
herself, wrote to Virginia. Then she walked in the garden, read a
little, and in this way managed to fill out the emptiness of the
hours.
Each morning, out of habit, Felicite entered Virginia's room and
gazed at the walls. She missed combing her hair, lacing her shoes,
tucking her in her bed, and the bright face and little hand when
they used to go out for a walk.
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