etter Thursday evening and none Friday morning, she
took courage. If the little one were growing worse the nurse would have
written her. The little one was better: she imagined her saved, cured.
Children are forever coming near dying, and they get well so quickly!
And then hers was strong. She decided to wait, to be patient until
Sunday, which was only forty-eight hours away, deceiving the remainder
of her fears with the superstitions that say yes to hope, persuading
herself that her daughter had "escaped," because the first person she
met in the morning was a man, because she had seen a red horse in the
street, because she had guessed that a certain person would turn into a
certain street, because she had ascended a flight of stairs in so many
strides.

On Saturday, in the morning, when she entered Mere Jupillon's shop, she
found her weeping hot tears over a lump of butter that she was covering
with a moist cloth.

"Ah! it's you, is it?" said Mere Jupillon. "That poor charcoal woman!
See, I'm actually crying over her! She just went away from here. You
don't know--they can't get their faces clean in their trade with
anything but butter. And here's her love of a daughter--she's at
death's door, you know, the dear child. That's the way it is with us!
Ah! _mon Dieu_, yes!--Well, as I was saying, she said to her just now
like this: 'Mamma, I want you to wash my face in butter right away--for
the good God.'"

And Mere Jupillon began to sob.

Germinie had fled. All that day she was unable to keep still. Again and
again she went up to her chamber to prepare the few things she proposed
to take to her little one the next day, to dress her cleanly, to make a
little special toilet for her in honor of her recovery. As she went down
in the evening to put Mademoiselle to bed, Adele handed her a letter
that she had found for her below.

XXIII

Mademoiselle had begun to undress, when Germinie entered her bedroom,
walked a few steps, dropped upon a chair, and almost immediately, after
two or three long-drawn, deep, heart-breaking sighs, mademoiselle saw
her throw herself backward, wringing her hands, and at last roll from
the chair to the floor. She tried to lift her up, but Germinie was
shaken by such violent convulsions that the old woman was obliged to let
the frantic body fall again upon the floor; for all the limbs, which
were for a moment contracted and rigid, lashed out to right and left, at
random, with the sharp