Oh, how I longed
to return her embrace and cry, "I live!" And yet I was lying there
powerless, motionless, inert!
"You are foolish," suddenly said Mme Gabin; "it is all wasted."
"Never mind," answered Marguerite, sobbing. "I want him to wear his very
best things."
I understood that she was dressing me in the clothes I had worn on my
wedding day. I had kept them carefully for great occasions. When she had
finished she fell back exhausted in the armchair.
Simoneau now spoke; he had probably just entered the room.
"They are below," he whispered.
"Well, it ain't any too soon," answered Mme Gabin, also lowering her
voice. "Tell them to come up and get it over."
"But I dread the despair of the poor little wife."
The old woman seemed to reflect and presently resumed: "Listen to me,
Monsieur Simoneau. You must take her off to my room. I wouldn't have her
stop here. It is for her own good. When she is out of the way we'll get
it done in a jiffy."
These words pierced my heart, and my anguish was intense when I realized
that a struggle was actually taking place. Simoneau had walked up to
Marguerite, imploring her to leave the room.
"Do, for pity's sake, come with me!" he pleaded.
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