rejoined Marianne upstairs, still unwilling to
call or warn anybody. But a third attack followed, and this time it was
the thunderbolt.

Rose had half risen in bed, her arms thrown out, her mouth distended as
she gasped "Mamma! mamma!"

Then in a sudden fit of revolt, a last flash of life, she sprang from
her bed and stepped towards the window, whose panes were all aglow with
the rising sun. And for a moment she leant there, her legs bare, her
shoulders bare, and her heavy hair falling over her like a royal mantle.
Never had she looked more beautiful, more dazzling, full of strength and
love.

But she murmured: "Oh! how I suffer! It is all over, I am going to die."

Her father darted towards her; her mother sustained her, throwing her
arms around her like invincible armor which would shield her from all
harm.

"Don't talk like that, you unhappy girl! It is nothing; it is only
another attack which will pass away. Get into bed again, for mercy's
sake. Your old friend Boutan is on his way here. You will be up and well
again to-morrow."

"No, no, I am going to die; it is all over."

She fell back in their arms; they only had time to lay her on her bed.
And the thunderbolt fell: without a word, without a glance, in a few
minutes she died of congestion of the lungs.

Ah! the imbecile thunderbolt! Ah! the scythe, which with a single stroke
blindly cuts down a whole springtide! It was all so brutally sudden,
so utterly unexpected, that at first the stupefaction of Marianne and
Mathieu was greater than their despair. In response to their cries the
whole farm hastened up, the fearful news filled the place, and then all
sank into the deep silence of death--all work, all life ceasing. And the
other children were there, scared and overcome: little Nicolas, who
did not yet understand things; Gregoire, the page of the previous day;
Louise, Madeleine, and Marguerite, the three maids of honor, and their
elders, Claire and Gervais, who felt the blow more deeply. And there
were yet the others journeying away, Blaise, Denis, and Ambroise,
travelling to Paris at that very moment, in ignorance of the unforeseen,
frightful hatchet-stroke which had fallen on the family. Where would the
terrible tidings reach them? In what cruel distress would they return!
And the doctor who would soon arrive too! But all at once, amid the
terror and confusion, there rang out the cries of Frederic, the poor
dead girl's affianced lover. He shrieked his