How good was the sight of the eyes! "Perhaps she'd rather die," said the old woman.

"She is unhappy." She was thinking of her own far, bitter past, remembered now after so many years.

"Misery and blindness too--ah! What right have I to make her blind?
It's a great risk, Parpon, my dear son." "I must, I must, for your sake.

Valmond! Valmond! O Valmond!" cried Elise again out of her delirium.
The stricken girl had answered for Parpon.

She had decided for herself.
Life! that was all she prayed for: for another's sake, not her own.
Her own mother slept on, in the corner of the room, unconscious of the terrible verdict hanging in the balance.
Madame Degardy quickly emptied into a cup of liquor the strange brown powder, mixed it, and held it to the girl's lips, pouring it slowly down.
Once, twice, during the next hour, a low, anguished voice filled the room; but just as dawn came, Parpon stooped and tenderly wiped a soft moisture from the face, lying so quiet and peaceful now against the pillow.
"She breathes easy, poor pretty bird!" said the old woman gently.
"She'll never see again ?" asked Parpon mournfully.