"Take that, my dear lady," she said, kneeling down beside the bed. "Don't move, but just open your lips."
A spoonful was put to the sick woman's lips, but she could not swallow it. Again she fainted, and this time she remained unconscious for a longer time. The Baroness saw that the soup was not needed, and so as not to waste it, she made Perrine take it.
A day passed. The doctor came, but there was nothing he could do.
Perrine was in despair. She wondered how long the thirty francs that La Rouquerie had given her would last. Although their expenses were not great, there was first one thing, then another, that was needed. When the last sous were spent, where would they go? What would become of them if they could get no more money?
She was seated beside her mother's bedside, her beautiful little face white and drawn with anxiety. Suddenly she felt her mother's hand, which she held in hers, clasp her fingers more tightly.
"You want something?" she asked quickly, bending her head.
"I want to speak to you ... the hour has come for my last words to you, darling," said her mother.
"Oh, mama! mama!" cried Perrine.
"Don't interrupt, darling, and let us both try to control ourselves. I did not want to frighten you, and that is the reason why, until now, I have said nothing that would add to your grief. But what I have to say must be said, although it hurts us both. We are going to part...."
In spite of her efforts, Perrine could not keep back her sobs.