Jacques had put a curtain to the window to hide this tree from the invalid, but Francine insisted on its being drawn back.
"Oh my darling!" said she to Jacques.

"I will give you a hundred times more kisses than there are leaves." And she added, "Besides I am much better now.

I shall soon be able to go out, but as it will be cold and I do not want to have red hands, you must buy me a muff." During the whole of her illness this muff was her only dream.
The day before All Saints', seeing Jacques more grief stricken than ever, she wished to give him courage, and to prove to him that she was better she got up.
The doctor arrived at that moment and forced her to go to bed again.
"Jacques," whispered he in the artist's ear, "you must summon up your courage.

All is over; Francine is dying." Jacques burst into tears.
"You may give her whatever she asks for now," continued the doctor, "there is no hope." Francine heard with her eyes what the doctor had said to her lover.
"Do not listen to him," she exclaimed, holding out her arm to Jacques, "do not listen to him; he is not speaking the truth.

We will go out tomorrow--it is All Saints' Day.