oly autumn pomp of yellow leaves and half-despoiled
branches, nor the softened sunlight and pale clouds of the skies of
Touraine.

At last the doctor forbade Mme. Willemsens to leave her room. Every day
it was brightened by the flowers that she loved, and her children were
always with her. One day, early in November, she sat at the piano for
the last time. A picture--a Swiss landscape--hung above the instrument;
and at the window she could see her children standing with their heads
close together. Again and again she looked from the children to the
landscape, and then again at the children. Her face flushed, her fingers
flew with passionate feeling over the ivory keys. This was her last
great day, an unmarked day of festival, held in her own soul by the
spirit of her memories. When the doctor came, he ordered her to stay in
bed. The alarming dictum was received with bewildered silence.

When the doctor had gone, she turned to the older boy.

"Louis," she said, "take me out on the terrace, so that I may see my
country once more."

The boy gave his arm at those simply uttered words, and brought his
mother out upon the terrace; but her eyes turned, perhaps unconsciously,
to heaven rather than to the earth, and indeed, it would have been hard
to say whether heaven or earth was the fairer--for the clouds traced
shadowy outlines, like the grandest Alpine glaciers, against the sky.
Mme. Willemsens' brows contracted vehemently; there was a look of
anguish and remorse in her eyes. She caught the children's hands, and
clutched them to a heavily-throbbing heart.

"'Parentage unknown!'" she cried, with a look that went to their hearts.
"Poor angels, what will become of you? And when you are twenty years
old, what strict account may you not require of my life and your own?"

She put the children from her, and leaning her arms upon the balustrade,
stood for a while hiding her face, alone with herself, fearful of all
eyes. When she recovered from the paroxysm, she saw Louis and Marie
kneeling on either side of her, like two angels; they watched the
expression of her face, and smiled lovingly at her.

"If only I could take that smile with me!" she said, drying her eyes.

Then she went into the house and took to the bed, which she would only
leave for her coffin.

A week went by, one day exactly like another. Old Annette and Louis took
it in turns to sit up with Mme. Willemsens, never taking their eyes
from the invalid. It was