Derues hastened to his side and took his hands in his, as if to warm
them.

"My mother!" the youth repeated. "Why have I not seen her? She was to
have met me."

You shall soon see her, dear boy; only keep quiet."

"But just now I thought she was dead."

"Dead!" cried Derues. "Drive away these sad thoughts. They are caused
by the fever only."

"No! oh no! . . . I heard a secret voice which said, 'Thy mother is
dead!' . . . And then I beheld a livid corpse before me . . . It was
she! . . . I knew her well! and she seemed to have suffered so
much----"

"Dear boy, your mother is not dead . . . . My God! what terrible
chimeras you conjure up! You will see her again, I assure you; she has
arrived already. Is it not so, madame?" he asked, turning towards the
Martins, who were both leaning against the foot of the bed, and signing
to them to support this pious falsehood, in order to calm the young man.
"Did she not arrive and come to his bedside and kiss him while he slept,
and she will soon come again?"

"Yes, yes," said Madame Martin, wiping her eyes; "and she begged my
husband and me to help your uncle to take great care of you--"