“She is perspiring a good deal—a great deal,” exclaimed the mother, whose excited hopes magnified the cool moisture into a heavy dew. “God will let her live, He will give me my treasure.”
She knelt down by the bedside, clasping her hands close to the child’s little form without daring to touch her; hardly daring to breathe lest her sighs should disturb the blessed reaction. Monina was lying comfortably and her breath came less painfully.
“It is possible? say Doctor....”
“I can say nothing yet....” said the inexorable physician. “The hope—the chances, are very slight. We shall see how she goes on.”
“Oh! all will be well; the Blessed Virgin will have pity on a lonely mother ... Leon what do you think?”
“I, I cannot tell,” replied Leon. “I do not know, but I feel ... but I dare not, I dare not. Still I feel encouraged ... who can tell ... perhaps....” Pepa could hardly repress a cry of joy.
“Oh! how can I bear it? She may live! But if we are deceived, if we are mistaken. Merciful Father! Blessed Virgin! Why do you let me hope if after all you rob me of my only treasure—the joy of my life, of my home, of my soul?” And she wandered vaguely about like a demented creature, not knowing what to do.
“Let us pray, let us pray,” she said at length. “The Virgin has heard me and I will beseech her, entreat her, till I can see and feel no more. Pray, Leon, with me—why do you not pray?”
“I too am praying,” replied Leon, bowing his head.