Rose had half risen in bed, her arms thrown out, her mouth distended as
she gasped "Mamma! mamma!"
Then in a sudden fit of revolt, a last flash of life, she sprang from her
bed and stepped towards the window, whose panes were all aglow with the
rising sun. And for a moment she leant there, her legs bare, her
shoulders bare, and her heavy hair falling over her like a royal mantle.
Never had she looked more beautiful, more dazzling, full of strength and
love.
But she murmured: "Oh! how I suffer! It is all over, I am going to die."
Her father darted towards her; her mother sustained her, throwing her
arms around her like invincible armor which would shield her from all
harm.
"Don't talk like that, you unhappy girl! It is nothing; it is only
another attack which will pass away. Get into bed again, for mercy's
sake. Your old friend Boutan is on his way here. You will be up and well
again to-morrow."
"No, no, I am going to die; it is all over."
She fell back in their arms; they only had time to lay her on her bed.
And the thunderbolt fell: without a word, without a glance, in a few
minutes she died of congestion of the lungs.
Pages:
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514