and　opened　her　eyes　wide；　with　terror　and　distress。
  〃Tell　me！　tell　me！〃　she　cried。
  〃Be　comforted；〃　said　the　priest。　〃Your　punishment　is　a　proof　that　you
  will　receive　pardon。　God　chastens　his　elect。　Woe　to　those　whose
  misdeeds　meet　with　fortunate　success；　they　will　be　kneaded　again　in
  humanity　until　they　in　their　turn　are　sorely　punished　for　simple
  errors；　and　are　brought　to　the　maturity　of　celestial　fruits。　Your
  life；　my　daughter；　has　been　one　long　error。　You　have　fallen　into　the
  pit　which　you　dug　for　yourself；　we　fail　ever　on　the　side　we　have
  ourselves　weakened。　You　gave　your　heart　to　an　unnatural　son；　in　whom
  you　made　your　glory；　and　you　have　misunderstood　the　child　who　is　your
  true　glory。　You　have　been　so　deeply　unjust　that　you　never　even　saw　the
  striking　contrast　between　the　brothers。　You　owe　the　comfort　of　your
  life　to　Joseph；　while　your　other　son　has　pillaged　you　repeatedly。　The
  poor　son；　who　loves　you　with　no　return　of　equal　tenderness；　gives　you
  all　the　comfort　that　your　life　has　had；　the　rich　son；　who　never　thinks
  of　you；　despises　you　and　desires　your　death〃
  〃Oh！　no；〃　she　cried。
  〃Yes；〃　resumed　the　priest；　〃your　humble　position　stands　in　the　way　of
  his　proud　hopes。　Mother；　these　are　your　sins！　Woman；　your　sorrows　and
  your　anguish　foretell　that　you　shall　know　the　peace　of　God。　Your　son
  Joseph　is　so　noble　that　his　tenderness　has　never　been　lessened　by　the
  injustice　your　maternal　preferences　have　done　him。　Love　him　now；　give
  him　all　your　heart　during　your　remaining　days；　pray　for　him；　as　I
  shall　pray　for　you。〃
  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。　I　was　saying　to　Grassou　only　yesterday：　'What
  comforts　me　in　the　midst　of　my　trials　is　that　I　have　such　a　good
  mother。　She　is　all　that　an　artist's　wife　should　be；　she　sees　to
  everything；　she　takes　care　of　my　material　wants　without　ever　troubling
  or　worrying　me。'〃
  〃No；　Joseph；　no；　you　have　loved　me；　but　I　have　not　returned　you　love
  for　love。　Ah！　would　that　I　could　live　a　little　longer　Give　me　your
  hand。〃
  Agathe　took　her　son's　hand；　kissed　it；　held　it　on　her　heart；　and
  looked　in　his　face　a　long　time；letting　him　see　the　azure　of　her　eyes
  resplendent　with　a　tenderness　she　had　hitherto　bestowed　on　Philippe
  only。　The　painter；　well　fitted　to　judge　of　expression；　was　so　struck
  by　the　change；　and　saw　so　plainly　how　the　heart　of　his　mother　had
  opened　to　him；　that　he　took　her　in　his　arms；　and　held　her　for　some
  moments　to　his　heart；　crying　out　like　one　beside　himself；〃My　mother！
  oh；　my　mother！〃
  〃Ah！　I　feel　that　I　am　forgiven！〃　she　said。　〃God　will　confirm　the
  child's　pardon　of　its　mother。〃
  〃You　must　be　calm：　don't　torment　yourself；　hear　me。　I　feel　myself
  loved　enough　in　this　one　moment　for　all　the　past；〃　he　said；　as　he　laid
  her　back　upon　the　pillows。
  During　the　two　weeks'　struggle　between　life　and　death；　there　glowed
  such　love　in　every　look　and　gesture　and　impulse　of　the　soul　of　the
  pious　creature；　that　each　effusion　of　her　feelings　seemed　like　the
  expression　of　a　lifetime。　The　mother　thought　only　of　her　son；　she
  herself　counted　for　nothing；　sustained　by　love；　she　was　unaware　of　her
  sufferings。　D'Arthez；　Michel　Chrestien；　Fulgence　Ridal；　Pierre
  Grassou；　and　Bianchon　often　kept　Joseph　company；　and　she　heard　them
  talking　art　in　a　low　voice　in　a　corner　of　her　room。
  〃Oh；　how　I　wish　I　knew　what　color　is！〃　she　exclaimed　one　evening　as
  she　heard　them　discussing　one　of　Joseph's　pictures。
  Joseph；　on　his　side；　was　sublimely　devoted　to　his　mother。　He　never
  left　her　chamber；　answered　tenderness　by　tenderness；　cherishing　her
  upon　his　heart。　The　spectacle　was　never　afterwards　forgotten　by　his
  friends；　and　they　themselves；　a　band　of　brothers　in　talent　and
  nobility　of　nature；　were　to　Joseph　and　his　mother　all　that　they　should
  have　been；friends　who　prayed；　and　truly　wept；　not　saying　prayers　and
  shedding　tears；　but　one　with　their　friend　in　thought　and　action。
  Joseph；　inspired　as　much　by　feeling　as　by　genius；　divined　in　the
  occasional　expression　of　his　mother's　face　a　desire　that　was　deep
  hidden　in　her　heart；　and　he　said　one　day　to　d'Arthez；
  〃She　has　loved　that　brigand　Philippe　too　well　not　to　want　to　see　him
  before　she　dies。〃
  Joseph　begged　Bixiou；　who　frequented　the　Bohemian　regions　where
  Philippe　was　still　occasionally　to　be　found；　to　persuade　that
  shameless　son　to　play；　if　only　out　of　pity；　a　little　comedy　of
  tenderness　which　might　wrap　the　mother's　heart　in　a　winding…sheet　of
  illusive　happiness。　Bixiou；　in　his　capacity　as　an　observing　and
  misanthropical　scoffer；　desired　nothing　better　than　to　undertake　such
  a　mission。　When　he　had　made　known　Madame　Bridau's　condition　to　the
  Comte　de　Brambourg；　who　received　him　in　a　bedroom　hung　with　yellow
  damask；　the　colonel　laughed。
  〃What　the　devil　do　you　want　me　to　do　there？〃　he　cried。　〃The　only
  service　the　poor　woman　can　render　me　is　to　die　as　soon　as　she　can；　she
  would　be　rather　a　sorry　figure　at　my　marriage　with　Mademoiselle　de
  Soulanges。　The　less　my　family　is　seen；　the　better　my　position。　You　can
  easily　understand　that　I　should　like　to　bury　the　name　of　Bridau　under
  all　the　monuments　in　Pere…Lachaise。　My　brother　irritates　me　by
  bringing　the　name　into　publicity。　You　are　too　knowing　not　to　see　the
  situation　as　I　do。　Look　at　it　as　if　it　were　your　own：　if　you　were　a
  deputy；　with　a　tongue　like　yours；　you　would　be　as　much　feared　as
  Chauvelin；　you　would　be　made　Comte　Bixiou；　and　director　of　the　Beaux…
  Arts。　Once　there；　how　should　you　like　it　if　your　grandmother　Descoings
  were　to　turn　up？　Would　you　want　that　worthy　woman；　who　looked　like　a
  Madame　Saint…Leon；　to　be　hanging　on　to　you？　Would　you　give　her　an　arm
  in　the　Tuileries；　and　present　her　to　the　noble　family　you　were　trying
  to　enter？　Damn　it；　you'd　wish　her　six　feet　under　ground；　in　a　leaden
  night…gown。　Come；　breakfast　with　me；　and　let　us　talk　of　something
  else。　I　am　a　parvenu；　my　dear　fellow；　and　I　know　it。　I　don't　choose
  that　my　swaddling…clothes　shall　be　seen。　My　son　will　be　more　fortunate
  than　I；　he　will　be　a　great　lord。　The　scamp　will　wish　me　dead；　I　expect
  it；or　he　won't　be　my　son。〃
  He　rang　the　bell；　and　ordered　the　servant　to　serve　breakfast。
  〃The　fashionable　world　wouldn't　see　you　in　your　mother's　bedroom；〃
  said　Bixiou。　〃What　would　it　cost　you　to　seem　to　love　that　poor　woman
  for　a　few　hours？〃
  〃Whew！〃　cried　Philippe；　winking。　〃So　you　come　from　them；　do　you？　I'm
  an　old　camel；　who　knows　all　about　genuflections。　My　mother　makes　the
  excuse　of　her　last　illness　to　get　something　out　of　me　for　Joseph。　No；
  thank　you！〃
  When　Bixiou　related　this　scene　to　Joseph；　the　poor　painter　was　chilled
  to　the　very　soul。
  〃Does　Philippe　know　I　am　ill？〃　asked　Agathe　in　a　piteous　tone；　the　day
  after　Bixiou　had　rendered　an　account　of　his　fruitless　errand。
  Joseph　left　the　room；　suffocating　with　emotion。　The　Abbe　Loraux；　who
  was　sitting　by　the　bedside　of　his　penitent；　took　her　hand　and　pressed
  it；　and　then　he　answered；　〃Alas！　my　child；　you　have　never　had　but　one
  son。〃
  The　words；　which　Agathe　understood　but　too　well；　conveyed　a　shock
  which　was　the　beginning　of　the　end。　She　died　twenty　hours　later。
  In　the　delirium　which　preceded　death；　the　words；　〃Whom　does　Philippe
  take　after？〃　escaped　her。
  Joseph　followed　his　mother　to　the　grave　alone。　Philippe　had　gone；　on
  business　it　was　said；　to　Orleans；　in　reality；　he　was　driven　from　Paris
  by　the　following　letter；　which　Joseph　wrote　to　him　a　moment　after
  their　mother　had　breathed　her　last　sigh：