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"Yes," I said to her.
We finished undressing the child. He had a top in his pocket. His head
rolled from one shoulder to the other; I held him and I kissed him on
the brow; Versigny and Bancel took off his stockings. The grandmother
suddenly started up.
"
Do not hurt him!" she cried.
She took the two little white and frozen feet in her old hands, trying
to warm them.
When the poor little body was naked, they began to lay it out. They took
a sheet from the clothes-press.
Then the grandmother burst into bitter lamentation.
She cried out,--
"
They shall give him back to me!"
She drew herself up and gazed at us, and began to pour forth incoherent
utterances, in which were mingled Bonaparte, and God, and her little
one, and the school to which he went, and her daughter whom she had
lost, and even reproaches to us. She was livid, haggard, as though
seeing a vision before her, and was more of a phantom than the dead
child.
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