shallprayforyou。“
Theeyesofthemother，openedbysofirmahand，tookinwithoneretrospectiveglancethewholecourseofherlife。Illuminedbythisflashoflight，shesawherinvoluntarywrong-doingandburstintotears。Theoldpriestwassodeeplymovedattherepentanceofabeingwhohadsinnedsolelythroughignorance，thathelefttheroomhastilylestsheshouldseehispity。
Josephreturnedtohismother’sroomabouttwohoursafterherconfessorhadlefther。Hehadbeentoafriendtoborrowthenecessarymoneytopayhismostpressingdebts，andhecameinontiptoe，thinkingthathismotherwasasleep。Hesatdowninanarmchairwithoutherseeinghim；buthesprangupwithacoldchillrunningthroughhimasheheardhersay，inavoicebrokenwithsobs，——
“Willheforgiveme？“
“Whatisit，mother？“heexclaimed，shockedatthestrickenfaceofthepoorwoman，andthinkingthewordsmustmeanthedeliriumthatprecedesdeath。
“Ah，Joseph！canyoupardonme，mychild？“shecried。
“Forwhat？“hesaid。
“Ihaveneverlovedyouasyoudeservedtobeloved。“
“Oh，whatanaccusation！“hecried。“Notlovedme？Forsevenyearshavewenotlivedalonetogether？Allthesesevenyearshaveyounottakencareofmeanddoneeverythingforme？DoInotseeyoueveryday，——hearyourvoice？Areyounotthegentleandindulgentcompanionofmymiserablelife？Youdon’tunderstandpainting？——Ah！butthat’sagiftnotalwaysgiven。IwassayingtoGrassouonlyyesterday:’WhatcomfortsmeinthemidstofmytrialsisthatIhavesuchagoodmother。Sheisallthatanartist’swifeshouldbe；sheseestoeverything；shetakescareofmymaterialwantswithoutevertroublingorworryingme。’“
“No，Joseph，no；youhavelovedme，butIhavenotreturnedyouloveforlove。Ah！wouldthatIcouldlivealittlelonger——Givemeyourhand。“
Agathetookherson’shand，kissedit，helditonherheart，andlookedinhisfacealongtime，——lettinghimseetheazureofhereyesresplendentwithatendernessshehadhithertobestowedonPhilippeonly。Thepainter，wellfittedtojudgeofexpression，wassostruckbythechange，andsawsoplainlyhowtheheartofhismotherhadopenedtohim，thathetookherinhisarms，andheldherforsomemomentstohisheart，cryingoutlikeonebesidehimself，——“Mymother！
oh，mymother！“
“Ah！IfeelthatIamforgiven！“shesaid。“Godwillconfirmthechild’spardonofitsmother。“
“Youmustbecalm:don’ttormentyourself；hearme。Ifeelmyselflovedenoughinthisonemomentforallthepast，“hesaid，ashelaidherbackuponthepillows。
Duringthetwoweeks’strugglebetweenlifeanddeath，thereglowedsuchloveineverylookandgestureandimpulseofthesoulofthepiouscreature，thateacheffusionofherfeelingsseemedliketheexpressionofalifetime。Themotherthoughtonlyofherson；sheherselfcountedfornothing；sustainedbylove，shewasunawareofhersufferings。D’Arthez，MichelChrestien，FulgenceRidal，PierreGrassou，andBianchonoftenkeptJosephcompany，andsheheardthemtalkingartinalowvoiceinacornerofherroom。
“Oh，howIwishIknewwhatcoloris！“sheexclaimedoneeveningassheheardthemdiscussingoneofJoseph’spictures。
Joseph，onhisside，wassublimelydevotedtohismother。Heneverleftherchamber；answeredtendernessbytenderness，cherishingheruponhisheart。Thespectaclewasneverafterwardsforgottenbyhisfriends；andtheythemselves，abandofbrothersintalentandnobilityofnature，weretoJosephandhismotherallthattheyshouldhavebeen，——friendswhoprayed，andtrulywept；notsayingprayersandsheddingtears，butonewiththeirfriendinthoughtandaction。
Joseph，inspiredasmuchbyfeelingasbygenius，divinedintheoccasionalexpressionofhismother’sfaceadesirethatwasdeephiddeninherheart，andhesaidonedaytod’Arthez，——
“ShehaslovedthatbrigandPhilippetoowellnottowanttoseehimbeforeshedies。“
JosephbeggedBixiou，whofrequentedtheBohemianregionswherePhilippewasstilloccasionallytobefound，topersuadethatshamelesssontoplay，ifonlyoutofpity，alittlecomedyoftendernesswhichmightwrapthemother’sheartinawinding-sheetofillusivehappiness。Bixiou，inhiscapacityasanobservingandmisanthropicalscoffer，desirednothingbetterthantoundertakesuchamission。WhenhehadmadeknownMadameBridau’sconditiontotheComtedeBrambourg，whoreceivedhiminabedroomhungwithyellowdamask，thecolonellaughed。
“Whatthedevildoyouwantmetodothere？“hecried。“Theonlyservicethepoorwomancanrendermeistodieassoonasshecan；shewouldberatherasorryfigureatmymarriagewithMademoiselledeSoulanges。Thelessmyfamilyisseen，thebettermyposition。YoucaneasilyunderstandthatIshouldliketoburythenameofBridauunderallthemonumentsinPere-Lachaise。Mybrotherirritatesmebybringingthenameintopublicity。YouaretooknowingnottoseethesituationasIdo。Lookatitasifitwereyourown:ifyouwereadeputy，withatonguelikeyours，youwouldbeasmuchfearedasChauvelin；youwouldbemadeComteBixiou，anddirectoroftheBeaux-
Arts。Oncethere，howshouldyoulikeitifyourgrandmotherDescoingsweretoturnup？Wouldyouwantthatworthywoman，wholookedlikeaMadameSaint-Leon，tobehangingontoyou？WouldyougiveheranarmintheTuileries，andpresenthertothenoblefamilyyouweretryingtoenter？Damnit，you’dwishhersixfeetunderground，inaleadennight-gown。Come，breakfastwithme，andletustalkofsomethingelse。Iamaparvenu，mydearfellow，andIknowit。Idon’tchoosethatmyswaddling-clothesshallbeseen。MysonwillbemorefortunatethanI；hewillbeagreatlord。Thescampwillwishmedead；Iexpectit，——orhewon’tbemyson。“
Herangthebell，andorderedtheservanttoservebreakfast。
“Thefashionableworldwouldn’tseeyouinyourmother’sbedroom，“
saidBixiou。“Whatwoulditcostyoutoseemtolovethatpoorwomanforafewhours？“
“Whew！“criedPhilippe，winking。“Soyoucomefromthem，doyou？I’manoldcamel，whoknowsallaboutgenuflections。MymothermakestheexcuseofherlastillnesstogetsomethingoutofmeforJoseph。No，thankyou！“
WhenBixiourelatedthisscenetoJoseph，thepoorpainterwaschilledtotheverysoul。
“DoesPhilippeknowIamill？“askedAgatheinapiteoustone，thedayafterBixiouhadrenderedanaccountofhisfruitlesserrand。
Josephlefttheroom，suffocatingwithemotion。TheAbbeLoraux，whowassittingbythebedsideofhispenitent，tookherhandandpressedit，andthenheanswered，“Alas！mychild，youhaveneverhadbutoneson。“
Thewords，whichAgatheunderstoodbuttoowell，conveyedashockwhichwasthebeginningoftheend。Shediedtwentyhourslater。
Inthedeliriumwhichprecededdeath，thewords，“WhomdoesPhilippetakeafter？“escapedher。
Josephfollowedhismothertothegravealone。Philippehadgone，onbusinessitwassaid，toOrleans；inreality，hewasdrivenfromParisbythefollowingletter，whichJosephwrotetohimamomentaftertheirmotherhadbreathedherlastsigh:——
Monster！mypoormotherhasdiedoftheshockyourlettercausedher。Wearmourning，butpretendillness；Iwillnotsufferherassassintostandatmysidebeforehercoffin。
JosephB。
Thepainter，whonolongerhadthehearttopaint，thoughhisbittergriefsorelyneededthemechanicaldistractionwhichlaboriswonttogive，wassurroundedbyfriendswhoagreedwithoneanothernevertoleavehimentirelyalone。ThusithappenedthatBixiou，wholovedJosephasmuchasasatiristcanloveanyone，wassittingintheatelierwithagroupofotherfriendsabouttwoweeksafterAgathe’sfuneral。Theservantenteredwithaletter，broughtbyanoldwoman，shesaid，whowaswaitingbelowfortheanswer。
Monsieur，——Toyou，whomIscarcelydaretocallmybrother，Iamforcedtoaddressmyself，ifonlyonaccountofthenameIbear——
Josephturnedthepageandreadthesignature。Thename“ComtesseFloredeBrambourg“madehimshudder。Heforesawsomenewatrocityonthepartofhisbrother。
“Thatbrigand，“hecried，“isthedevil’sown。Andhecallshimselfamanofhonor！Andhewearsalotofcrossesonhisbreast！Andhestrutsaboutatcourtinsteadofbeingbastinadoed！AndthescoundreliscalledMonsieurleComte！“
“Therearemanylikehim，“saidBixiou。
“Afterall，“saidJoseph，“theRabouilleusedeservesherfate，whateveritis。Sheisnotworthpitying；she’dhavehadmyneckwrunglikeachicken’swithoutsomuchassaying，’He’sinnocent。’“
Josephflungawaytheletter，butBixioucaughtitintheair，andreaditaloud，asfollows:——
IsitdecentthattheComtesseBridaudeBrambourgshoulddieinahospital，nomatterwhatmayhavebeenherfaults？Ifsuchistobemyfate，ifsuchisyourdeterminationandthatofmonsieurlecomte，sobeit；butifso，willyou，whoarethefriendofDoctorBianchon，askhimforapermittoletmeenterahospital？
ThepersonwhocarriesthisletterhasbeenelevenconsecutivedaystothehoteldeBrambourg，ruedeClichy，withoutgettinganyhelpfrommyhusband。ThepovertyinwhichInowampreventsmyemployingalawyertomakealegaldemandforwhatisduetome，thatImaydiewithdecency。Nothingcansaveme，Iknowthat。Incaseyouareunwillingtoseeyourunhappysister-in-law，sendme，atleast，themoneytoendmydays。Yourbrotherdesiresmydeath；
hehasalwaysdesiredit。Hewarnedmethatheknewthreewaysofkillingawoman，butIhadnotthesensetoforeseetheonehehasemployed。
