Herve Leger

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expression of suffering, breaks into a cold sweat and her cheeks turn crimson. 19 February, midnight Oh, poor Monsieur Armand! What a sad day today has been! This morning,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], Marguerite could not get her breath. The doctor bled her, and her voice came back a little. The doctor advised her to see a priest. She said she would, and he himself went off to find one at the Church of Saint Roch. Meanwhile, Marguerite called me close to her bedside, asked me to open her wardrobe, pointed out a lace cap and a long shift,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], also richly decked with lace, and then said in a weakened voice: "I shall die after I have made my confession. When it's over, you are to dress me in these things. It is the whim of a dying woman." Then, weeping,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], she kissed me and added: "I can speak, but I can't get my breath when I do. I can't breathe! Give me air!" I burst into tears and opened the window. A few moments later, the priest walked in. I went to greet him. When he realized in whose apartment he was, he seemed afraid of the reception he might get. "Come in,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], father, there's nothing to fear," I said. He stayed no time in the room where Marguerite lay so ill, and when he emerged, he said: "She has lived a sinful life, but she will die a Christian death." A few moments later, he returned with an altar-boy carrying a crucifix, and a sacristan who walked before them ringing a bell to announce that the Lord was coming to the house of the dying woman. All three entered the bedroom which, in times gone by, had ech
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