ok her shoulders at
regular intervals. These shoulders were drooping forward, and it
seemed as though an unseen weight were crushing them to the earth
and would crush them down through it.

Irene hurried, silently; brought a vial from the adjoining
bedchamber, poured some liquid on her palm, and touched her
mother's forehead and temples with it, delicately. Malvina raised
her face, which was deeply agitated by an expression of dread. At
that instant one might have thought the woman feared her
daughter. But Irene, in her usual calm voice, said:

"Insomnia always harms you, mamma. Again you have that horrible
neuralgia!"

"Yes, I feel a little ill," answered Malvina in a weak voice.

She rose, and tried to smile at Irene, but her pale lips merely
quivered, and her eyelids drooped; they were swollen from
weeping. With a step which she strove to make firm and steady she
went toward her bedroom.

Irene followed some steps behind.

"Mamma?"

"What, my child?"

Irene's lips opened and closed repeatedly; it seemed as though
some cry would come from them, but she only said in low tones:

"A little wine or bouillon might be brought?"

Malvina shook her head, advanced some steps, looked around:

"Ira!"

The daughter stood before her mother, but now Malvina in her turn
was speechless. She inclined her forehead, which covered slowly
with a blush; at last she inquired in a low voice:

"Is your father at home?"

"I heard him drive away some moments ago."

"On his return, should he wish to see me, say that I am waiting
for him."

"Very well, mamma."

In the door she turned again:

"Should someone else come--I cannot--"

Irene halted a number of steps from her mother in the formal
posture of a society young lady, and said:

"Be at rest, mamma; I shall not go a step away, and I shall not
let anyone interrupt you. Not even father if you wish--perhaps
to-morrow would be better?"

"Oh, no, no!" cried Malvina, with sudden animation. "On the
contrary, as soon as possible--beg your father to come, and let
me know at the earliest."

"Very well, mamma."

Malvina closed the bedroom door, advanced a few steps, and fell
on her knees at her richly covered bed. Amid furniture, finished
in yellow damask, on a downy bed, covered with cambric and lace,
she raised her clasped hands, and said, in whispers broken with
sobs:

"O God! O God! O God!"

She was of those weak beings who to live need heartfelt love as
much a