She called upon the Holy Virgin and upon all the saints to protect her.
She entreated God to grant her time for repentance and for expiation.
She begged to see a priest, swearing she would make a full confession.
Paler than the dying woman, but implacable, Blanche watched over her,
aided by that one of her personal attendants in whom she had most
confidence.
"If this lasts long, I shall be ruined," she thought. "I shall be
obliged to call for assistance, and she will betray me."
It did not last long.
The patient's delirium was succeeded by such utter prostration that it
seemed each moment would be her last.
But toward midnight she appeared to revive a little, and in a voice of
intense feeling, she said:
"You have had no pity, Blanche. You have deprived me of all hope in
the life to come. God will punish you. You, too, shall die like a dog;
alone, without a word of Christian counsel or encouragement. I curse
you!"
And she died just as the clock was striking two.
The time when Blanche would have given almost anything to know that Aunt
Medea was beneath the sod, had long since passed.
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