vain pains that were more poignant than those of which she should die in any case. The doctor lingered to tell her once more:—
“But the operation is a safe one; your safety is certain, provided you exercise a little courage! And your death is equally certain if you refuse!” It was a sheer waste of words.
“No,” she replied in a faint voice, “I still have courage to die; but I no longer have any to suffer uselessly. Leave me to die in peace.”
The doctor was discouraged and said no more. No one pleaded further. Then the woman turned her face towards her mistress, and addressed to her her last prayers in a dying voice.
“Dear, good signora,” she said with a great effort, sobbing, “you will send this little money and my poor effects to my family—through the consul. I hope that they may all be alive. My heart presages well in these, my last moments. You will do me the favor to write—that I have always thought of them, that I have always toiled for them—for my children—that my sole grief was not to have seen them once more—but that I died courageously—with resignation—blessing them; and that I recommend to my husband—and to my elder son—the youngest, my poor Marco—that I bore him in my heart until the last moment—”suddenly she became excited, and shrieked, as she clasped her hands: “My Marco, my baby, my baby! My life!”
But on casting her tearful eyes round her, she perceived that her mistress was no longer there; she had been secretly called away. She sought her master; he
