"Well,
Monsieur le Cure, does that poor young woman feel a little better?"
Abbe Judaine made a gesture of infinite sadness.
"Alas! no. I was full of so much hope! It was I who persuaded the family
to come. Two years ago the Blessed Virgin showed me such extraordinary
grace by curing my poor lost eyes, that I hoped to obtain another favour
from her. However, I will not despair. We still have until to-morrow."
M. Vigneron again looked towards Madame Dieulafay and examined her face,
still of a perfect oval and with admirable eyes; but it was
expressionless, with ashen hue, similar to a mask of death, amidst the
lace. "It's really very sad," he murmured.
"And if you had seen her last summer!" resumed the priest. "They have
their country seat at Saligny, my parish, and I often dined with them. I
cannot help feeling sad when I look at her elder sister, Madame Jousseur,
that lady in black who stands there, for she bears a strong resemblance
to her; and the poor sufferer was even prettier, one of the beauties of
Paris.
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