'You are worse!'
In broken gasps, and in a low, a very low tone, her lips scarcely moving, she answered:
'No! I am—better—much—better. I knew you—were coming. She told me so.'
'Who told you so?' I asked, very kindly, for I saw that her mind was wandering.
'My mother—she has been with me—all the day—and I have been so—so happy, so—very happy! I am going now—going with her—I've only waited—for you!'
'Say no more now, madam, say no more; you are too weak to talk.'
'But I must talk. I am—dying, and I must tell—you all before—I go!'
'I would gladly hear you, but you have not strength for it now. Let me get something to revive you.'
She nodded assent, and looking at her son, said:
'Take Franky.'