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been very ill the day before, and that she was better now, be-
cause she thought that the mayor had gone to Montfermeil
to get her child. The sister dared not question the mayor;
but she perceived plainly from his air that he had not come
from there.
‘All that is good,’ said he; ‘you were right not to unde-
ceive her.’
‘Yes,’ responded the sister; ‘but now, Mr. Mayor, she will
see you and will not see her child. What shall we say to
her?’
He reflected for a moment.
‘God will inspire us,’ said he.
‘But we cannot tell a lie,’ murmured the sister, half
aloud.
It was broad daylight in the room. The light fell full on
M. Madeleine’s face. The sister chanced to raise her eyes to
it.
‘Good God, sir!’ she exclaimed; ‘what has happened to
you? Your hair is perfectly white!’
‘White!’ said he.
Sister Simplice had no mirror. She rummaged in a drawer,
and pulled out the little glass which the doctor of the infir-
mary used to see whether a patient was dead and whether he
no longer breathed. M. Madeleine took the mirror, looked
at his hair, and said:—
‘Well!’
He uttered the word indifferently, and as though his
mind were on something else.
The sister felt chilled by something strange of which she