all manner of things--her aunt,
the weather, the Madonna. Then she stopped suddenly, frightened at her
own words, frightened at her own silence; she fixed her burning gaze
upon her brother's brow as though to fascinate him. Little by little
animation returned to her; a faint colour tinted her hollowed cheeks,
and Gabriel, deceived by the maiden's super human efforts, thought her
still beautiful, and thanked God in his heart for having spared this
tender creature. Nisida, as though she had followed her brother's
secret thoughts, came close to him, pressed his hand with an air of
understanding, and murmured low in his ear, "Fortunately our father has
been away for two days; he sent me word that he would be detained in
town. For us, it is different; we are young, we have courage!"

The poor young girl was trembling like a leaf.

"What will become of you, my poor Nisida?"

"Bah! I will pray to the Madonna. Does she not watch over us?" The girl
stopped, struck by the sound of her own words, which the circumstances
so cruelly contradicted. But looking at her brother, she went on in a
low tone: "Assuredly she does watch over us. She appeared to me last
night in a dream. She held her child Jesus on her arm, and looked at
me with a mother's tenderness. She wishes to make saints of us, for she
loves us; and to be a saint, you see, Gabriel, one must suffer."

"Well, go and pray for me, my kind sister; go away from the view of this
sad place, which will eventually shake your firmness, and perhaps mine.
Go; we shall see each other again in heaven above, where our mother is
waiting for us--our mother whom you have not known, and to whom I shall
often speak of you. Farewell, my sister, until we meet again!"

And he kissed her on the forehead.

The young girl called up all her strength into her heart for this
supreme moment; she walked with a firm step; having reached the
threshold, she turned round and waved him a farewell, preventing herself
by a nervous contraction from bursting into tears, but as soon as she
was in the corridor, a sob broke from her bosom, and Gabriel, who heard
it echo from the vaulted roof, thought that his heart would break.

Then he threw himself on his knees, and, lifting his hands to heaven,
cried, "I have finished suffering; I have nothing more that holds me to
life. I thank Thee, my God! Thou hast kept my father away, and hast been
willing to spare the poor old man a grief that would have been beyond