She imagined herself struck by
lightning. Her eyes caught fire from the glare which flashed upon her,
and at last regained their flame of life, shining out like stars. And
under the influence of a wave of blood her face became animated, suffused
with colour, beaming with a smile of joy and health. And, suddenly,
Pierre saw her rise, stand upright in her little car, staggering,
stuttering, and finding in her mind only these caressing words: "Oh, my
friend! Oh, my friend!"
He hurriedly drew near in order to support her. But she drove him back
with a gesture. She was regaining strength, looking so touching, so
beautiful, in the little black woollen gown and slippers which she always
wore; tall and slender, too, and crowned as with a halo of gold by her
beautiful flaxen hair, which was covered with a simple piece of lace. The
whole of her virgin form was quivering as if some powerful fermentation
had regenerated her. First of all, it was her legs that were relieved of
the chains that bound them; and then, while she felt the spirit of
life--the life of woman, wife, and mother--within her, there came a final
agony, an enormous weight that rose to her very throat.
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