"She must go back and lie down," said the Baroness, rubbing her cold hands. "It is nothing, girl; don't look so scared ... just go and find Carp. The two of us can carry her to her room. You can't go ... not just now." The Baroness soon had the sick woman in her bed, where she regained consciousness. "Now you must just stay there in your bed," said the Baroness, kindly. "You can go just as well tomorrow. I'll get Carp to give you a nice cup of bouillon. He loves soup as much as the landlord loves wine; winter and summer he gets up at five o'clock and makes his soup; good stuff it is, too. Few can make better." Without waiting for a reply, she went to Carp, who was again at his work. "Will you give me a cup of your bouillon for our patient?" she asked. He replied with a smile only, but he quickly took the lid from a saucepan and filled a cup with the savory soup. The Baroness returned with it, carrying it carefully, so as not to spill a drop. "Take that, my dear lady," she said, kneeling down beside the bed. "Don't move, but just open your lips." A spoonful was put to the sick woman's lips, but she could not swallow it. Again she fainted, and this time she remained unconscious for a longer time. The Baroness saw that the soup was not needed, and so as not to waste it, she made Perrine take it. A day passed. The doctor came, but there was nothing he could do. Perrine was in despair. She wondered how long the thirty francs that La Rouquerie had given her would last. Although their expenses were not great, there was first one thing, then another, that was needed. When the last sous were spent, where would they go? What would become of them if they could get no more money? She was seated beside her mother's bedside, her beautiful little face white and drawn with anxiety. Suddenly she felt her mother's hand, which she held in hers, clasp her fingers more tightly. "You want something?" she asked quickly, bending her head. "I want to speak to you ... the hour has come for my last words to you, darling," said her mother. "Oh, mama! mama!" cried Perrine. "Don't interrupt, darling, and let us both try to control ourselves. I did not want to frighten you, and that is the reason why, until now, I have said nothing that would add to your grief. But what I have to say must be said, although it hurts us both. We are going to part...." In spite of her efforts, Perrine could not keep back her sobs. "Yes, it is terrible, dear child, and yet I am wondering if, after all, it is not for the best ... that you will be an orphan. It may be better for you to go alone than to be taken to them by a mother whom they have scorned. Well, God's will is that you should be left alone ... in a few hours ... tomorrow, perhaps...." For a moment she stopped, overcome with emotion.