This was her last great day, an unmarked day of festival, held in her
own soul by the spirit of her memories. When the doctor came, he
ordered her to stay in bed. The alarming dictum was received with
bewildered silence.

When the doctor had gone, she turned to the older boy.

"Louis," she said, "take me out on the terrace, so that I may see my
country once more."

The boy gave his arm at those simply uttered words, and brought his
mother out upon the terrace; but her eyes turned, perhaps
unconsciously, to heaven rather than to the earth, and indeed, it
would have been hard to say whether heaven or earth was the fairer
--for the clouds traced shadowy outlines, like the grandest Alpine
glaciers, against the sky. Mme. Willemsens' brows contracted
vehemently; there was a look of anguish and remorse in her eyes. She
caught the children's hands, and clutched them to a heavily-throbbing
heart.

"'Parentage unknown!'" she cried, with a look that went to their
hearts. "Poor angels, what will become of you? And when you are twenty
years old, what strict account may you not require of my life and your
own?"

She put the children from her, and leaning her arms upon the
balustrade, stood for a while hiding her face, alone with herself,
fearful of all eyes. When she recovered from the paroxysm, she saw
Louis and Marie kneeling on either side of her, like two angels; they
watched the expression of her face, and smiled lovingly at her.