He turned and went into the house. The old woman bent above Elise,
watching intently, her eyes straining, her lips anxiously compressed.
"My son," she said, "she will die in an hour if I don't give her more.
If I do, she may die at once. If she gets well, she will be--" She made
a motion to her eyes.
"Blind, mother, blind!" he whispered, and he looked round the room. How
good was the sight of the eyes! "Perhaps she'd rather die," said the old
woman. "She is unhappy." She was thinking of her own far, bitter past,
remembered now after so many years. "Misery and blindness too--ah! What
right have I to make her blind? It's a great risk, Parpon, my dear son."
"I must, I must, for your sake. Valmond! Valmond! O Valmond!" cried
Elise again out of her delirium.
The stricken girl had answered for Parpon. She had decided for herself.
Life! that was all she prayed for: for another's sake, not her own.
Her own mother slept on, in the corner of the room, unconscious of the
terrible verdict hanging in the balance.
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