le, was the head of my
sleeping grandmother; her whole position had about it something very
regular--something that suggested eternal rest.

My mother and sister were seated beside a chiffonier near the door, from
which place they had kept watch over my grandmother during her illness.
As soon as I entered they signalled to me with their hands as if to say:
"Softly, softly, make no noise; she is asleep." The shade of their lamp
threw a vivid light upon the material they were busied with, a number
of little silk squares, brown, yellow, gray, etc., that I recognized as
pieces of their old dresses and hat ribbons.

At first I thought that they were working upon things which it is
customary to prepare for people about to die; but when I, in a very low
voice and with some uneasiness, questioned them about it, they explained
that they were making sachets which were to be sold for charity.

I said that I wished to bid grandmother good night before retiring, and
they allowed me to go towards the bed; but before I reached the middle
of the room they, after glancing quickly at each other, changed their
minds.

"No, no," they said in a very low voice, "come back, you might disturb
her."

But before they spoke I came to a halt of myself, I was overwhelmed with
terror--I understood.

Although fear kept me fixed to the spot I noted with astonishment that
my grandmother was not at all disagreeable to look at; I had never
before seen a dead person, and I had imagined until then, that when
the spirit took its departure all that remained was a grinning, hideous
skeleton. On the contrary my grandmother had upon her face an extremely
sweet and tranquil smile; she was as beautiful as ever, and her face
appeared to be rejuvenated and filled with a holy peace.

Then there passed through my mind one of those sad flashes which
sometimes come to little children and permit them to see for a moment
into hidden depths, and I reflected: How can grandmother be in heaven,
how am I to understand the division of the one body into two parts, for
that which was left for interment, was it not my grandmother herself,
ah! was it not she even to the very expression that she bore in life?

After that I stole away with a bruised heart and downcast spirit,
not daring to ask a question of any one, fearful lest what I had so
unerringly divined would be confirmed, I did not wish to hear the dread
and terrible word pronounced. . . .

* * * * *

For a lon