“To-morrow?” interrupted the count, “you said, I believe, to-morrow! Honour demands, sir, that we act to-day, at this moment. You can show your love for this poor woman much better by delivering her son than by praying for her.”
Noel bowed low.
“To hear your wish, sir, is to obey it,” he said; “I go. This evening, at your house, I shall have the honour of giving you an account of my proceedings. Perhaps I shall be able to bring Albert with me.”
He spoke, and, again embracing the dead woman, went out.
Soon the count and Mademoiselle d’Arlange also retired.
The old soldier went to the Mayor, to give notice of the death, and to fulfil the necessary formalities.
The nun alone remained, awaiting the priest, which the cure had promised to send to watch the corpse.
The daughter of St. Vincent felt neither fear nor embarrassment, she had been so many times in a similar position. Her prayers said, she arose and went about the room, arranging everything as it should be in the presence of death. She removed all traces of the illness, put away the medicine bottles, burnt some sugar upon the fire shovel, and, on a table covered with a white cloth at the head of the bed, placed some lighted candles, a crucifix with holy water, and a branch of palm.