a woman of thirty-第56部分

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A　shrill　cry　came　from　the　garden。　She　leaned　carelessly　out；　as　Pauline；　not　yet　departed　on　her　errand；　called　out　for　help；　holding　the　Marquise　in　her　arms。

〃Do　not　frighten　my　daughter！〃　those　were　the　last　words　the　mother　uttered。

Moina　saw　them　carry　in　a　pale　and　lifeless　form　that　struggled　for　breath；　and　arms　moving　restlessly　as　in　protest　or　effort　to　speak；　and　overcome　by　the　sight；　Moina　followed　in　silence；　and　helped　to　undress　her　mother　and　lay　her　on　her　bed。　The　burden　of　her　fault　was　greater　than　she　could　bear。　In　that　supreme　hour　she　learned　to　know　her　mothertoo　late；　she　could　make　no　reparation　now。　She　would　have　them　leave　her　alone　with　her　mother；　and　when　there　was　no　one　else　in　the　room；　when　she　felt　that　the　hand　which　had　always　been　so　tender　for　her　was　now　grown　cold　to　her　touch；　she　broke　out　into　weeping。　Her　tears　aroused　the　Marquise；　she　could　still　look　at　her　darling　Moina；　and　at　the　sound　of　sobbing；　that　seemed　as　if　it　must　rend　the　delicate；　disheveled　breast；　could　smile　back　at　her　daughter。　That　smile　taught　the　unnatural　child　that　forgiveness　is　always　to　be　found　in　the　great　deep　of　a　mother's　heart。



Servants　on　horseback　had　been　dispatched　at　once　for　the　physician　and　surgeon　and　for　Mme。　d'Aiglemont's　grandchildren。　Mme。　d'Aiglemont　the　younger　and　her　little　sons　arrived　with　the　medical　men；　a　sufficiently　impressive；　silent；　and　anxious　little　group；　which　the　servants　of　the　house　came　to　join。　The　young　Marquise；　hearing　no　sound；　tapped　gently　at　the　door。　That　signal；　doubtless；　roused　Moina　from　her　grief；　for　she　flung　open　the　doors　and　stood　before　them。　No　words　could　have　spoken　more　plainly　than　that　disheveled　figure　looking　out　with　haggard　eyes　upon　the　assembled　family。　Before　that　living　picture　of　Remorse　the　rest　were　dumb。　It　was　easy　to　see　that　the　Marquise's　feet　were　stretched　out　stark　and　stiff　with　the　agony　of　death；　and　Moina；　leaning　against　the　door…frame；　looking　into　their　faces；　spoke　in　a　hollow　voice：

〃I　have　lost　my　mother！〃



PARIS；　1828…1844。







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