aten some soup and two eggs for lunch,
and--quite suddenly, without any warning she fell--and turned black,
like she is now; she has not moved since, and we have--tried everything
to restore her to consciousness--everything--"

She stopped abruptly for she saw the nurse making a sign to the doctor
to intimate that it was all over. Then she refused to understand the
gesture, and went on anxiously:

"Is it anything serious? Do you think there is any danger?"

He answered at last:

"I very much fear that--that life is extinct. Be brave and try to bear
up."

For an answer Jeanne opened her arms, and threw herself on her mother's
body. Julien came in. He made no sign of grief or pity, but stood
looking simply vexed; he had been taken too much by surprise to at once
assume an expression of sorrow.

"I expected it," he whispered. "I knew she could not live long."

He drew out his handkerchief, wiped his eyes, knelt down and crossed
himself as he mumbled something, then rose and attempted to raise his
wife. She was clinging to the corpse, almost lying on it as she
passionately kissed it; they had to drag her away for she was nearly mad
with grief, and she was not allowed to go back for an hour.

Then every shadow of hope had vanished, and the room had been arranged
fittingly for its dead occupant. The day was drawing to a close, and
Julien and the priest were standing near one of the windows, talking in
whispers. The Widow Dentu, thoroughly accustomed to death, was already
comfortably dozing in an armchair. The cure went to meet Jeanne as she
came into the room, and taking both her hands in his, he exhorted her to
be brave under this sorrow, and attempted to comfort her with the
consolation of religion. Then he spoke of her dead mother's good life,
and offered to pass the night in prayers beside the body.

But Jeanne refused this offer as well as she could for her tears. She
wanted to be alone, quite alone, with her mother this last night.

"That cannot be," interposed Julien; "we will watch beside her
together."

She shook her head, unable to speak for some moments; then she said:

"She was my mother, and I want to watch beside her alone."

"Let her do as she wants," whispered the doctor; "the nurse can stay in
the next room," and Julien and the priest, thinking of their night's
rest, gave in.

The Abbe Picot knelt down, prayed for a few moments, then rose and went
out of the room, saying, "She was a saintly w