Overcome by fatigue, both of body and mind, she repaired to bed; but the sleep into which she sunk was broken and disturbed by frightful visions, and she arose pale and unrefreshed, at the first dawn of day, to seek some of her fellow-partners in affliction. To describe her feelings this day would be but to recapitulate those of the preceding one. They were now, as they were then, alternately perturbed, alternately calm; and Father Bertrand, whose sympathy and counsel alone caused that calm, was convinced time only could restore them to their wonted state. She this day performed the painful task of acquainting her father with the melancholy loss they had sustained, which she did as follows:—
To M. Clermont,
"WHERE shall I find words to soften the melancholy tidings I have to communicate. Oh! my father, vainly would I try for expressions to do so; no language, no prepa-
