When the notary left her, Madame Claes told
Marguerite to bring writing materials; then she gathered up her
remaining strength to write her last wishes. Several times she paused
and looked at her daughter. The hour of confidence had come.
Marguerite's management of the household since her mother's illness
had amply fulfilled the dying woman's hopes that Madame Claes was able
to look upon the future of the family without absolute despair,
confident that she herself would live again in this strong and loving
angel. Both women felt, no doubt, that sad and mutual confidences must
now be made between them; the daughter looked at the mother, the
mother at the daughter, tears flowing from their eyes. Several times,
as Madame Claes rested from her writing, Marguerite said: "Mother?"
then she dropped as if choking; but the mother, occupied with her last
thoughts, did not ask the meaning of the interrogation. At last,
Madame Claes wished to seal the letter; Marguerite held the taper,
turning aside her head that she might not see the superscription.
"You can read it, my child," said the mother, in a heart-rending
voice.
The young girl read the words, "To my daughter Marguerite."
"We will talk to each other after I have rested awhile," said Madame
Claes, putting the letter under her pillow.
Then she fell back as if exhausted by the effort, and slept for
several hours. When she woke, her two daughters and her two sons were
kneeling by her bed and praying.
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