herd went home. Her consumption was
so advanced, and she was so weak, that she used to sit with closed eyes,
breathing heavily. Her face was as thin as a skeleton's, and sweat used
to stand on her white brow in large drops. I always found her sitting
just like that. I used to come up quietly to look at her; but Marie
would hear me, open her eyes, and tremble violently as she kissed my
hands. I did not take my hand away because it made her happy to have it,
and so she would sit and cry quietly. Sometimes she tried to speak; but
it was very difficult to understand her. She was almost like a madwoman,
with excitement and ecstasy, whenever I came. Occasionally the children
came with me; when they did so, they would stand some way off and keep
guard over us, so as to tell me if anybody came near. This was a great
pleasure to them.

"When we left her, Marie used to relapse at once into her old condition,
and sit with closed eyes and motionless limbs. One day she could not
go out at all, and remained at home all alone in the empty hut; but
the children very soon became aware of the fact, and nearly all of them
visited her that day as she lay alone and helpless in her miserable bed.

"For two days the children looked after her, and then, when the village
people got to know that Marie was really dying, some of the old women
came and took it in turns to sit by her and look after her a bit. I
think they began to be a little sorry for her in the village at last;
at all events they did not interfere with the children any more, on her
account.

"Marie lay in a state of uncomfortable delirium the whole while; she
coughed dreadfully. The old women would not let the children stay in the
room; but they all collected outside the window each morning, if only
for a moment, and shouted 'Bon jour, notre bonne Marie!' and Marie no
sooner caught sight of, or heard them, and she became quite animated at
once, and, in spite of the old women, would try to sit up and nod her
head and smile at them, and thank them. The little ones used to bring
her nice things and sweets to eat, but she could hardly touch anything.
Thanks to them, I assure you, the girl died almost perfectly happy. She
almost forgot her misery, and seemed to accept their love as a sort of
symbol of pardon for her offence, though she never ceased to consider
herself a dreadful sinner. They used to flutter at her window just like
little birds, calling out: 'Nous t'aimons, Marie!'