Asking her how she was, she replied that she was better and worse, worse in body, better in mind. The night before, she said, she felt so surely that she was dying that she sent for a priest. She welcomed him heartily, she added smiling. How beautiful was religion, the minister came to talk with her for an hour, and then leaving, he carried away with him despair, terror, remorse. Then she said she fell asleep quite peacefully. The doctor promised her health on the very first day in spring. Smiling again, she said it was his duty to say so; an untruth surely was not a sin in a doctor, for he must speak one for every patient he saw. For indeed she was much worse that day. Moreover, want was tormenting her last hours. Her creditors were again exacting, and almost every hour brought one of them to the door. Indeed, the new year’s presents, jewels for the most part, were ordered to be sold almost as soon as seen. Left alone, she took from the bosom of her dress a letter. It was one written by M. Duval, saying that his son would soon be with her to entreat his pardon, and the writer’s own. It bade her be careful of her health, and said that her courage promised a happy future. For six weeks had she read this letter daily--for six weeks of days she had watched for his return, and still she watched--sickening with despair one moment only to glow with hope the next. If she could only have a letter from him, if she could only live till the spring--why then? She got slowly up from the soft chair to which she had been led, and eagerly searched her wan face in a looking-glass. “How changed I am! yet the doctor has promised to cure me. Oh! I must have patience. And yet, did he not tell my waiting woman, Nannie, did I not hear him say I was much worse? Yet, only _much worse_; there is, then, still some hope, still a few short months to live, and if in that time he comes to me, I shall be saved--I SHALL BE SAVED. This is now new year’s day, then surely I may hope. And--and, besides, if I were really in danger, they all of them, the doctor, Nannie, my old friends, could not come laughing to my bedside as they do, nor would the doctor leave me.” Here she slowly wandered to the window and looked from it. “Ah! what joy is there not in a family, how beautiful now is that child playing with his toys--ah, I could die loving that little one.” Suddenly her maid ran quickly into the room, her face full of joy. “Madame! madame!” “Well! well!” “You are strong to-day--you feel quite strong.” “Yes, but why?” “Pray be calm.” “Yes, yes, but why?” “I would prepare you--a sudden joy is so heavy to bear.” “A joy? A joy for _me_? You have seen him--he--he is coming!” With weak, rapid steps she staggered to the door, and called to him. Then he stood before her, pale and trembling. She fell upon his neck, and clung to him as though he were life. “No, no, it is not thee; not so much clemency can be shown to such as I am.”