ALL THE WORLD IS ATREMBLE: the dogs barking, the bells clanging, the fine white scent of orange blossoms everywhere, and Jean-Luc scuttling out the door before Mother can do anything about it. He is off to join the other boys, who are stealing enough copper pots and pans to deafen the whole town, when tonight they go marching through the streets, banging and hallooing till the dawn.
It is in this moment of confusion, with every child in motion around her, the girls leaning out the windows, waving, and the boys snatching up her spoons, that Mother looks at Madeleine. How still she is, how quietly she sleeps. Her breathing barely lifts the covers.
She is so beautiful when she sleeps.
The children stop. They stare at their mother. They have not heard this said in a very long while.
Smooth your sister's coverlet. Arrange her hair on the pillowcase.
And Mother gazes at the girl with a calm affection, as if their silent quarrels were now coming to an end, as if that lush and troublesome body had been restored, by miracle, to its former beauty and perfection.
Outside, the church bells cease their clamor. On the stone steps leading down from the chapel, a bride and groom stand blinking stupidly in the sunlight.
Why did I never think of it before? Mother wonders.