“Look in my eyes,” she said; “why dost thou turn away? Hast thou not been a good boy; hast thou not loved the good God?”
Poor Victor, overwhelmed with the dreadful consciousness of deceit, found it almost impossible, in face of this touching and pious affection, to meet the old woman’s glance. He struggled to force himself to look into her eyes unwaveringly. Dr. Lommel laid his hand upon his companion’s shoulder.
“Yes, Mère Marchette,” said he, “Pierre is a good lad; that I will answer for.”
The old woman raised her eyes toward heaven, and her lips moved. She was evidently praying. She had received extreme unction just before noon, but this moment in which she commended her grandson to God was to her no less solemn than that of her own last communion. Then she put out her hand to Dr. Lommel with her smile of wonderful sweetness and an air of noble simplicity.
“You have been so kind to old Mère Marchette,” were her words; “the good God will reward you.”
He looked at the old dying peasant woman and tried to speak, but his sobs choked him. He bent and kissed her hand and laid it back gently in that of Victor. Her little strength was evidently failing fast. With a last effort she made a movement to drag herself nearer to Victor. He understood her wish and supported her in his arms.
“Promise me,” she murmured, her voice wasted almost to a whisper, “that thou wilt be good.”
“I promise,” he answered.
And the words were no less sincere because she mistook the speaker. A smile of heavenly rapture came over her face; she tried to speak and failed. But Victor understood her wish and kissed her. As their lips parted she sighed quiveringly.