"But we must not stand here talking, my child. We have a duty to
perform, you and I, and we must be brave and perform that duty at once,
difficult though it may be. Where is your mother, Cecile? She will have
to be told before--before they arrive. I came on ahead for that very
purpose."
"We cannot tell her, Father, we cannot. It will kill her."
"We _must_ tell her; it will be impossible to hide it. Take me to her
and we will tell her together. God will be with us and will help us, my
child."
"Oh! if God would only spare her, if He would only spare her! If He
would only open a way so we need not tell her!"
Her brain was in a whirl as she mounted the stairs; she was stunned,
broken. Of one thing only was she perfectly conscious. Philippe was
coming and his mother must be awakened. That mother's last words as she
had closed her eyes were:
"I am strangely weary, Cecile, weary and very drowsy. I think I shall
sleep a little, but be sure and wake me when Philippe comes."
Wake her when Philippe comes! Yes, for Philippe _is_ coming and his
mother must be wakened.
They stood beside the couch and looked down upon the sleeping woman. How
quietly she rested there, how still she was and peaceful! But how _very_
still she was, and what was that scarcely palpable shadow resting on the
sweet, calm face? Was it only a shade cast by the lamp which Cecile had
brought in and placed upon a table behind them, or was it----?
With a cry of alarm, the girl fell on her knees and caught frantically
at her mother's hand.
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