y was
exhausted, her courage forsook her. A cold wave flowed into her heart.
She said to herself that it was all over. The hand that death lays upon
one's shoulder, the presentiment of death, was already touching her. She
felt the first breath of the epidemic, the belief that she was its
destined victim, and the impression that she was already half-possessed
by it. Although unresigned, she succumbed. Her life, vanquished
beforehand, hardly made an effort to struggle. At that crisis a head
bent over her pillow, like a ray of light.

It was the head of the youngest of the pupil-assistants, a fair head,
with long golden locks and blue eyes so soft and sweet that the dying
saw heaven opening its gates therein. When they saw her, delirious women
said: "Look! the Blessed Virgin!"

"My child," she said to Germinie, "you must ask for your discharge at
once. You must go away from here. You must dress warmly. You must wrap
up well. As soon as you're at home and in bed, you must take a hot
draught of something or other. You must try to take a sweat. Then, it
won't do you any harm. But go away from here. It wouldn't be healthy for
you here to-night," she said, glancing around at the beds. "Don't say
that I told you to go: you would get me discharged if you should."

XXI

Germinie recovered in a few days. The joy and pride of having given
birth to a tiny creature in whom her flesh was mingled with the flesh of
the man she loved, the bliss of being a mother, saved her from the
natural results of a confinement in which she did not receive proper
care. She was restored to health and had an apparent pleasure in living
that her mistress had never before seen her manifest.

Every Sunday, no matter what the weather might be, she left the house
about eleven o'clock; mademoiselle believed that she went to see a
friend in the country, and was delighted that her maid derived so much
benefit from these days passed in the open air. Germinie would capture
Jupillon, who allowed himself to be taken in tow without too much
resistance, and they would start for Pommeuse where the child was, and
where a good breakfast ordered by the mother awaited them. Once in the
carriage on the Mulhouse railway, Germinie would not speak or reply when
spoken to. She would lean out of the window, and all her thoughts seemed
to be upon what lay before her. She gazed, as if her longing were
striving to outrun the steam. The train would hardly have stopped b