I realized that she was drawing nearer. She examined me, touched me and,
turning to Marguerite, murmured compassionately: "Poor girl! Poor girl!"
My wife, wearied out, was sobbing like a child. Mme Gabin lifted her,
placed her in a dilapidated armchair near the fireplace and proceeded to
comfort her.
"Indeed, you'll do yourself harm if you go on like this, my dear. It's
no reason because your husband is gone that you should kill yourself
with weeping. Sure enough, when I lost Gabin I was just like you. I
remained three days without swallowing a morsel of food. But that didn't
help me--on the contrary, it pulled me down. Come, for the Lord's sake,
be sensible!"
By degrees Marguerite grew calmer; she was exhausted, and it was only at
intervals that she gave way to a fresh flow of tears. Meanwhile the old
woman had taken possession of the room with a sort of rough authority.
"Don't worry yourself," she said as she bustled about. "Neighbors must
help each other. Luckily Dede has just gone to take the work home. Ah,
I see your trunks are not yet all unpacked, but I suppose there is some
linen in the chest of drawers, isn't there?"
I heard her pull a drawer open; she must have taken out a napkin which
she spread on the little table at the bedside.
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