This historic book may have numerous typos, missing text or index. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. 1900. Not illustrated. Excerpt: ... VII. A CONVICT FOR METTRAY. Never had the motto over the cottage of Les Aulnettes seemed more fitting than upon that morning. Standing apart and alone, under the wintry sky, across which great gray clouds were scudding, looking smaller than before among the trees, stripped of their leaves, the house, hermetically sealed against the damp of the garden and the road, participated in the dismal silence of the sleeping earth and the atmosphere destitute of a single bird. A few crows were pecking at seeds in the neighboring fields, and there was no sign of life upon the gloomy landscape save the flight of their black wings close to the ground. Charlotte was removing clusters of withered grapes from the wall of the room in the turret, the poet was at work, and Doctor Hirsch was sleeping when the postman's arrival, the sole interruption to the monotonous life of these voluntary exiles, brought them all together for a moment while the general ennui was forgotten. "Ah a letter from Indret " d'Argenton exclaimed, and maliciously began to read his papers, followed by restless glances from Charlotte, and keeping the letter beside him without opening it, as a dog stands guard over a bone he does not wish any one else to touch. "Oh What 's-his-name's book has just come out. Will that fellow ever stop writing? And another poem of Hugo's -- always Hugo " Why this cruel slowness in unfolding his newspaper? Because Charlotte is there behind him, impatient, her cheeks flushed with joy; because, whenever a letter arrives from Indret, the mother in her is stronger than her love for her poet, and this wretched egotist cannot pardon the fact that she does not belong exclusively, entirely, to himself. That was the reason why he sent the child so far, so very far away. But a mother's h...