plendid case of
pulmonary consumption, and with difficulty conceals his satisfaction
that he foretold the exact course of the disease up to the last hour.
We had been to see the young man twelve hours before he died. He was
quite merry with us, and full of hope because the fever had left him,
which was only a sign of weakness. Yesterday, when sitting with Aniela
on the veranda, the cleric's mother came up to tell us about his
death, in her own quaint way, in which sorrow blended with quiet
submission to the inevitable. In my pity for her, there was a great
deal of curiosity, for up to now I had not much occasion to see
anything of the inner life of the peasants. What quaint expressions
they use! I tried to remember her words in order to note them down.

She embraced my knees, then Aniela's, after which she put the outside
of her hands over her eyes, and began to wail: "O little Jesus,
dear--O Maria, holiest of Virgins! He is dead, my poor lamb, dead! He
was eager to see the Lord face to face; more eager than to stop with
his little father and mother! Nothing could hold him back, not even
the ladies' cares! Wine he had in plenty, and good food, and that
could not save him; O little Jesus, dear! O holiest of Virgins! O
Jesus mine!"

In her voice there was certainly a mother's sorrow! but what struck me
most was the modulation of the voice, as if set to some local music. I
never heard before the peasants lament their dead, but I am quite
sure they all do it in more or less the same way, as if according to
certain rules.

Tears were trembling on Aniela's eyelashes, and with that peculiar
goodness only women are capable of, she began to inquire into the
details of his death, guessing that it would soothe the poor woman to
speak about it.

And in fact she began at once most eagerly:--

"When the priest had left him I said thus: 'Whether you die or not is
in God's hands! You are nicely prepared now, so lay ye down and go to
sleep.' Says he: 'Very well, little mother,' and fell in a doze, and
I too; as, not reproaching the Lord with it, I had not had a proper
sleep for three nights. At the first crow my old man comes in and
wakes me; thus we were both sitting there, and he still asleep. I says
to the old man: 'Is he gone?' and he says, 'Happen and he is gone.' I
pulled him by the hand; he opened his eyes and said: 'I feel better
now.' Then he remained quite still for about five _paters_ and _aves_,
and smiled toward the