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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