Just then the door opened and I was surprised to see Madame Pierson, who
inquired who was there.
I waited a moment, in order to conceal my astonishment. I then entered
the house and asked permission to remain until the storm should pass. I
could not imagine what she was doing at such an hour in this deserted
spot; suddenly, I heard a plaintive voice from the bed, and turning my
head, I saw the farmer's wife lying there with the mark of death on her
face.
Madame Pierson, who had followed me, sat down before the old man who was
bowed down with sorrow; she made me a sign to make no noise as the sick
woman was sleeping. I took a chair and sat in a corner until the storm
passed.
While I sat there, I saw her rise from time to time and whisper something
to the farmer. One of the children, whom I took upon my knee, said that
she came every night since the mother's illness. She performed the duties
of a sister of charity--there was no one else in the country who could do
it; there was but one physician, and he was very inferior.
"That is Brigitte la Rose," said the child; "do you not know her?"
"No," I replied in a low voice. "Why do you call her by such a name?"
He replied that he did not know, unless it was because she had been rosy
and the name had clung to her.
As Madame Pierson had laid aside her veil, I could see her face; when the
child left me I raised my head.
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