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Bernhardt, Sarah, 1845-1923

"The Idol of Paris"

Now drink some wine and take some coffee,"
said Esperance, caressing the grandmother's hands.
"I haven't got enough wood to boil the water."
Madame Darbois looked at the girls contritely. "Wood," she said. "And
we never thought of it."
"If you aren't poor, you don't have to think," muttered the old woman.
A contraction of the heart, the sting of remorse, pierced Mme. Darbois
and the two girls.
"To-morrow you shall have plenty of wood, Mme. Borderie."
"That will be very good, kind lady, for then we can have a little
heat, and that is what the little one needs. The sun never comes into
my room, ah! it can't, the hole is not big enough. And then in the
evening when the fog begins, my little boy, he coughs so, and that
makes me shiver; then I take him in my bed, but my blood is not warm
enough so he can't get warm. Ah! but that will be good for him, to
have wood! Thank you."
For the first time her face broke into a smile, for she had almost
forgotten how to smile. Her life had been nearly all tears. Suddenly
she raised her head in fright--"What may that noise be?"
At the door a cart stopped. On the cart a big barrel.
"Here is some water, Mme. Borderie, that we are going to pour into
your cistern."
With the help of the carter and Maurice, Albert got to work and
behold! the cistern half full. Albert tried the pump.
"Don't waste any, in Heaven's name," cried the old woman.
"No, no, never mind.


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