Part 6 (1/2)

CHAPTER XI

BONNE MAMAN'S DEATH

We were at Quimper when _bonne maman_ died. She had been failing for some time, and her character, until then so gentle, had altered. Mere trifles disquieted her, and she became fretful, alarmed, and even impatient. She seemed so little in her big bed, and, when I wanted to climb up beside her, after my wont, she signed to Jeannie to take me away and said that it tired her too much to see children and that the air of a sick-room was not good for them. ”Tell my daughter--tell her.

They must not come!” she repeated several times in a strange, shrill voice. I slid down from the bed, I remember, abashed and disconcerted, and while I longed to see my dear _bonne maman_ as I had known her, I was afraid of this changed _bonne maman_; and it hurt me more for her than for myself that she should be so changed.

But one day when _maman_ was in the room, she caught sight of me hanging about furtively in the pa.s.sage, and called out gently to me to go away, that _bonne maman_ was tired and was going to sleep. Then a poor little voice, no longer shrill, very trembling, came from the bed, saying: ”Let her come, Eliane. It will not hurt me. I want to see her for a moment.”

I approached the bed, walking on tiptoe; the curtains were drawn to shade _bonne maman_ from the sunlight, and I softly came and stood within them. O my poor _bonne maman_! I could hardly recognize her.

She seemed old--old and shrunken, and her eyes no longer smiled. She looked at me so fixedly that I was frightened, and she said to _maman_:

”Lift her up on the bed. I want to kiss her.” She took my hand then, and looked at my little finger as she always used to do, and said: ”I see that you have been very good with your mother, but that you don't obey your nurse. You must always be obedient. You understand me, don't you, Sophie? Do you say your prayers?”

”Yes, _bonne maman_,” I answered.

”Have you said them this morning?”

”No, _bonne maman_.”

”Say them now.”

I made the sign of the cross and said the following prayer, which I repeated morning and evening every day, and with slightly altered nomenclature, my children and grandchildren have repeated, as I did, until the age of reason: ”_Mon Dieu_, bless me and bless and preserve _grand-pere_, _bonne maman_, _maman_, _papa_, my sisters, my brother, Tiny” [this was my little dog], ”Ghislaine, France, Kerandraon, all my family, and make me very good. Amen.” When I had finished, _bonne maman_ drew me gently to her, pressed me in her arms, and kissed me on my eyes.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Paul]

After this, for how many days I do not remember, everything became very still in the house. The servants whispered when they had to speak, and the older people, when they met us, told us gently to go into the garden and to be very quiet. We did not see _maman_ or _papa_ at all. My _tante_ de Laisieu was with us, and dear France.

_Bon papa_ arrived from Paris. One morning was very sunny and beautiful, and as I played with Eliane in the garden I forgot the oppression that weighed upon us and began to sing to her a Breton song which Jeannie had taught me. These were the words:

Le Roy vient demain au chateau, ”Ecoute moi bien, ma Fleurette, Tu regarderas bien son aigrette!”

”Je regarderai,” dit Fleurette, ”Pour bien reconnaitre le Roy!

Mes yeux ne verront que toi, Et mon coeur n'aimera que toi.”