"One regret only I have, Mamma," Marguerite said; "and that is, that I have never seen your face. Oh, that I might have seen it just once."
"In Heaven," interrupted our teacher, "your eyes will be open forever."
"Oh, yes," said the dying girl. "There perhaps I will see Mamma and Victoria. Will you please give Victoria a kiss for me when she comes home from the factory tonight Tell her I'm so grateful; she has worked so hard for us!" Then suddenly—"Paula!" she called—"Paula!"
"Here I am, Marguerite," and Paula came closer, taking her hand.
"Ah, you are here. Thanks, dear Paula," she gasped. "Many thanks for telling me about Jesus and His love for me. Sing—"
The sentence was never finished, but Paula's sweet voice rose, as once again she sang the sublime words:
"There is no night there."
"Is she dead?" I said, as we looked down on the still white face.
"Her eyes are open now," said Mlle. Virtud tenderly, "in the City where there is no night!"