yielded, her fingers gave way and left go of the linen; and he uncovered her face.
She was pale, quite colourless; and from under her closed lids tears were stealing. He threw his arms round her neck and kissed her eyes, slowly, with long heart-broken kisses, wet with her tears; and he said again and again:
"Mother, my dear mother, I know it is not true. Do not cry; I know it. It is not true."
She raised herself, she sat up, looked in his face, and with an effort of courage such as it must cost in some cases to kill one's self, she said:
"No, my child; it is true."
And they remained speechless, each in the presence of the other. For some minutes she seemed again to be suffocating, craning her throat and throwing back her head to get breath; then she once more mastered herself and went on:
"It is true, my child. Why lie about it? It is true. You would not believe me if I denied it."
She looked like a crazy creature. Overcome by alarm, he fell on his knees by the bedside, murmuring:
"Hush, mother, be silent." She stood up with terrible determination and energy.
"I have nothing more to say, my child. Good-bye." And she went towards the door.
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