And, suddenly,
Pierre saw her rise, stand upright in her little car, staggering,
stuttering, and finding in her mind only these caressing words: "Oh, my
friend! Oh, my friend!"
He hurriedly drew near in order to support her. But she drove him back
with a gesture. She was regaining strength, looking so touching, so
beautiful, in the little black woollen gown and slippers which she always
wore; tall and slender, too, and crowned as with a halo of gold by her
beautiful flaxen hair, which was covered with a simple piece of lace. The
whole of her virgin form was quivering as if some powerful fermentation
had regenerated her. First of all, it was her legs that were relieved of
the chains that bound them; and then, while she felt the spirit of
life--the life of woman, wife, and mother--within her, there came a final
agony, an enormous weight that rose to her very throat. Only, this time,
it did not linger there, did not stifle her, but burst from her open
mouth, and flew away in a cry of sublime joy.
"I am cured!--I am cured!"
Then there was an extraordinary sight. The blanket lay at her feet, she
was triumphant, she had a superb, glowing face. And her cry of cure had
resounded with such rapturous delight that the entire crowd was
distracted by it. She had become the sole point of interest, the others
saw none but her, erect, grown so radiant and so divine.
"I am cured!--I am cured!"
Pierre, at the violent shock his heart had received, had begun to weep.
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