owe to a father, to a great man who sacrificed his happiness
and his life to the glory of his family; he can only do wrong in act,
his intentions are noble, his heart is full of love; you will see him
once more kind and affectionate--YOU! Marguerite, it is my duty to say
these words to you on the borders of the grave. If you wish to soften
the anguish of my death, promise me, my child, to take my place beside
your father; to cause him no grief; never to reproach him; never to
condemn him. Be a gentle, considerate guardian of the home until--his
work accomplished--he is again the master of his family."

"I understand you, dear mother," said Marguerite, kissing the swollen
eyelids of the dying woman. "I will do as you wish."

"Do not marry, my darling, until Gabriel can succeed you in the
management of the property and the household. If you married, your
husband might not share your feelings, he might bring trouble into the
family and disturb your father's life."

Marguerite looked at her mother and said, "Have you nothing else to say
to me about my marriage?"

"Can you hesitate, my child?" cried the dying woman in alarm.

"No," the daughter answered; "I promise to obey you."

"Poor girl! I did not sacrifice myself for you," said the mother,
shedding hot tears. "Yet I ask you to sacrifice yourself for all.
Happiness makes us selfish. Be strong; preserve your own good sense to
guard others who as yet have none. Act so that your brothers and your
sister may not reproach my memory. Love your father, and do not oppose
him--too much."

She laid her head on her pillow and said no more; her strength was
gone; the inward struggle between the Wife and the Mother had been too
violent.

A few moments later the clergy came, preceded by the Abbe de Solis,
and the parlor was filled by the children and the household. When the
ceremony was about to begin, Madame Claes, awakened by her confessor,
looked about her and not seeing Balthazar said quickly,--

"Where is my husband?"

Those words--summing up, as it were, her life and her death--were
uttered in such lamentable tones that all present shuddered. Martha, in
spite of her great age, darted out of the room, ran up the staircase and
through the gallery, and knocked loudly on the door of the laboratory.

"Monsieur, madame is dying; they are waiting for you, to administer the
last sacraments," she cried with the violence of indignation.

"I am coming," answered Balthazar.