"What do you mean? Frederick! Oh, he at least will remain to me!"
"I feel it here, yes, Henri, here in my heart; I tell you he will die."
"But, a little while ago, Pierre came out of the chamber where your son is lying, and told me he had not given up all hope. No, no, for him to die, too, would be more than I could bear."
"Great God! you--you, his mother, ask that question!"
"I told you, my friend, there are profound mysteries in maternal love. I think it would be a dreadful evil to survive my son, and Frederick thinks as I do; he loves me as much as I love him, and he does not desire to survive me."
"Oh, what misery for me to lose you both!"
"Marie and Frederick cannot be separated; neither in this world nor in the other, my friend."
"Henri, my strength is gone, the chill of death is on me. Give me your hand, your dear and faithful hand."
David threw himself on his knees at the bedside of the young woman, covering her hand with tears and kisses; he burst into sobs.
Marie continued talking, her voice growing more and more feeble.
"One last request, Henri; you will grant it, if it is possible. M. Bastien has spoken to me of his desire to sell this house; I would not like to have strangers profane this home, where my life has been passed, as well as the life of my son; for my life dates from the day I became a mother. Doctor Dufour, your best friend, dwells near here, you would like to live near him some day. Hasten that day, Henri; you will find great consolation in a heart like his."
"Oh, Marie, this house will be the object of a religious care--but--"
"Thank you, Henri, oh, thank you, that thought consoles me. A last prayer: I do not wish to be separated from my son; you understand me, do you not?"
Scarcely had Marie uttered these words when a great noise was heard in the corridor.
Suddenly Madame Bastien's door was thrown open violently. Frederick entered, livid as a corpse, dragging after him a piece of the bed linen, like a winding-sheet, while Marguerite was trying in vain to hold him back.
A last ray of intelligence, the filial instinct perhaps, led this child to die near his mother.
David, who was kneeling at the bedside of the young woman, rose, bewildered, as if he had seen a spectre.