Sister Hyacinthe, moreover,
had remained beside the dying woman, and, unwilling to waste her time,
had taken a needle and cotton to mend some patient's bodice which had a
hole in the sleeve.
"You'll stay a little while with us, won't you?" she asked Ferrand.
The latter, who was still watching Madame Vetu, replied: "Yes, yes. She
may go off at any moment. I fear hemorrhage." Then, catching sight of
Marie on the neighbouring bed, he added in a lower voice: "How is she?
Has she experienced any relief?"
"No, not yet. Ah, dear child! we all pray for her very sincerely. She is
so young, so sweet, and so sorely afflicted. Just look at her now! Isn't
she pretty? One might think her a saint amid all this sunshine, with her
large, ecstatic eyes, and her golden hair shining like an aureola!"
Ferrand watched Marie for a moment with interest. Her absent air, her
indifference to all about her, the ardent faith, the internal joy which
so completely absorbed her, surprised him. "She will recover," he
murmured, as though giving utterance to a prognostic.
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