"Mamma, the one important thing is the safety of the soul.... If God wishes to restore you, let it be a miracle to you of his sacred grace...."
"But ... am I dying ... my daughter?"
"God only can tell.... Do you wish the señor cura to come in and give you a short confession?"
"Yes ... let him come in ... my daughter, let him come in!"
The priest came, and remained a few moments alone with the sick woman. Those who were in the adjoining room kept a sad silence. Don Mariano lying on a sofa, with his cheek resting in one hand, shut his eyes and gave evidence of deep dejection. After the priest had finished, Marta, Maria, Ricardo, and Don Maximo returned. Doña Gertrudis's condition grew continually more critical. There began to be noticeable in her a restlessness of bad augury; she turned her head from one side to the other as though she could not find a resting-place, as though she were already searching for the pillow on which she was to repose eternally. Her vacillating hands picked up and dropped the bedclothes incessantly, while her eyes also restlessly rolled in their orbits, fastening, from time to time, on the ceiling of the room; it seemed as though she found no one on whom to rest them. Soon Martita noticed that her hands were cold, and she mentioned the fact aloud, in a simple manner, without appreciating its unfortunate significance. Don Maximo turned away his head to hide his emotion; the priest let his fall on his breast.
"I feel ... very well ... now," she said to Maria, raising her daughter's hand to her lips. "As soon as I ... I am well ... we will go ... to Lourdes ... together ... will we not?... It is very ... pretty ... is it that one?... very pretty ... very pretty.... If you knew ... what I see now!... The Virgin ... the Virgin coming ... surrounded by stars.... Put on my ... velvet dress ... to receive her.... Come ... quick ... quick.... Don't you see ... I am entering by the door?... Ay! what trials!... Good day, Señora.... I have a daughter ... who much resembles you.... She has a fair complexion ... and blue eyes ... very beautiful!... very beautiful!"
A slight hoarseness began to choke the sick woman's throat; the last words were rather breathed than spoken; it was a dry, sharp huskiness constantly growing more pronounced. The confessor hearing it made a sign to Maria, and she quickly took a silver image of Christ hanging on the wall, and put it in her mother's hand, saying:—
"Mamma, think on the Lord.... Think of what the Divine Saviour suffered for us."
"I ... am not ... dying," said the invalid.
"Yes, mamma ... yes ... you are dying," replied the young woman with kindled face, full of fear and anguish, fearing that she was not well prepared. "Repent of the sins that you have committed!... You do repent, and ask forgiveness of God for them, don't you?"