"
The eyes of the mother, opened by so firm a hand, took in with one
retrospective glance the whole course of her life. Illumined by this
flash of light, she saw her involuntary wrong-doing and burst into
tears. The old priest was so deeply moved at the repentance of a being
who had sinned solely through ignorance, that he left the room hastily
lest she should see his pity.
Joseph returned to his mother's room about two hours after her
confessor had left her. He had been to a friend to borrow the
necessary money to pay his most pressing debts, and he came in on
tiptoe, thinking that his mother was asleep. He sat down in an
armchair without her seeing him; but he sprang up with a cold chill
running through him as he heard her say, in a voice broken with
sobs,--
"Will he forgive me?"
"What is it, mother?" he exclaimed, shocked at the stricken face of
the poor woman, and thinking the words must mean the delirium that
precedes death.
"Ah, Joseph! can you pardon me, my child?" she cried.
"For what?" he said.
"I have never loved you as you deserved to be loved."
"Oh, what an accusation!" he cried. "Not loved me? For seven years
have we not lived alone together? All these seven years have you not
taken care of me and done everything for me? Do I not see you every
day,--hear your voice? Are you not the gentle and indulgent companion
of my miserable life? You don't understand painting?--Ah! but that's a
gift not always given.
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