"You shall be taken there by-and-by, I promise you," said Sister
Hyacinthe. "But you must be good. Try to sleep a little to gain some
strength."

The sick woman appeared to sink into a doze, and Madame de Jonquiere then
thought that she might take Madame Desagneaux with her to the other end
of the ward to count the linen, a troublesome business, in which they
became quite bewildered, as some of the articles were missing. Meantime
Sophie, seated on the bed opposite Madame Vetu, had not stirred. She had
laid her doll on her lap, and was waiting for the lady's death, since
they had told her that she was about to die. Sister Hyacinthe, moreover,
had remained beside the dying woman, and, unwilling to waste her time,
had taken a needle and cotton to mend some patient's bodice which had a
hole in the sleeve.

"You'll stay a little while with us, won't you?" she asked Ferrand.

The latter, who was still watching Madame Vetu, replied: "Yes, yes. She
may go off at any moment. I fear hemorrhage." Then, catching sight of
Marie on the neighbouring bed, he added in a lower voice: "How is she?
Has she experienced any relief?"

"No, not yet. Ah, dear child! we all pray for her very sincerely. She is
so young, so sweet, and so sorely afflicted. Just look at her now! Isn't
she pretty? One might think her a saint amid all this sunshine, with her
large, ecstatic eyes, and her golden hair shining like an aureola!"

Ferrand watched Marie for a moment with interest. Her absent air, her
indifference to all about her, the ardent faith, the internal joy which
so completely absorbed her, surprised him. "She will recover," he