he saw him the
dying woman sat up suddenly in bed, opened her lips, stammered a few
words and began to scratch the bed-clothes, as if she would have made
hole in them.

Father Simon approached, took her hand, kissed her on the forehead and
said in a gentle voice:

"May God pardon your sins, my daughter. Be of good courage. Now is the
moment to confess them--speak!"

Then Marguerite, shuddering from head to foot, so that the very bed
shook with her nervous movements, gasped:

"Sit down, sister, and listen."

The priest stooped toward the prostrate Suzanne, raised her to her
feet, placed her in a chair, and, taking a hand of each of the sisters,
pronounced:

"Lord God! Send them strength! Shed Thy mercy upon them."

And Marguerite began to speak. The words issued from her lips one by
one--hoarse, jerky, tremulous.

"Pardon, pardon, sister! pardon me! Oh, if only you knew how I have
dreaded this moment all my life!"

Suzanne faltered through her tears:

"But what have I to pardon, little one? You have given me everything,
sacrificed all to me. You are an angel."

But Marguerite interrupted her:

"Be silent, be silent! Let me speak! Don't stop me! It is terrible.
Let me tell all, to the very end, without interruption. Listen. You
remember--you remember--Henry--"

Suzanne trembled and looked at her sister. The younger one went on:

"In order to understand you must hear everything. I was twelve years
old--only twelve--you remember, don't you? And I was spoilt; I did just
as I pleased. You remember how everybody spoilt me? Listen. The first
time he came he had on his riding boots; he dismounted, saying that he
had a message for father. You remember, don't you? Don't speak. Listen.
When I saw him I was struck with admiration. I thought him so handsome,
and I stayed in a corner of the drawing-room all the time he was
talking. Children are strange--and terrible. Yes, indeed, I dreamt of
him.

"He came again--many times. I looked at him with all my eyes, all my
heart. I was large for my age and much more precocious than--any one
suspected. He came often. I thought only of him. I often whispered to
myself:

"'Henry-Henry de Sampierre!'

"Then I was told that he was going to marry you. That was a blow! Oh,
sister, a terrible blow--terrible! I wept all through three sleepless
nights.

"He came every afternoon after lunch. You remember, don't you? Don't
answer. Listen. You used to make cakes that he was very