Her son waited for no more, but not hearing
their caution, threw open the door of the chamber, and hastening to
his mother's couch, cast himself into her arms. She clung round his
neck, and for a while joy stopped her respiration. Bursting into
tears, she wept over him, incapable of expressing by words her
tumultuous gratitude at again beholding him alive. He looked on her
altered and pallid features.
"O! my mother," cried he clasping her to his breast; "you are ill;
and what will become of you?"
"My beloved son!" replied she kissing his forehead through the
clotted blood that oozed from a cut on his temple; "my beloved son,
before our cruel murderers can arrive, I shall have found a refuge in
the bosom of my God."
Thaddeus could only answer with a groan. She resumed. "Give me your
hand. I must not witness the grandson of Sobieski given up to
despair; let your mother incite you to resignation. You see I have
not breathed a complaining word, although I behold you covered with
wounds." As she spoke, her eye pointed to the sash and handkerchief
which were bound round his thigh and arm. "Our separation will not be
long; a few short years, perhaps hours, may unite us forever in a
better world."
The count was still speechless; he could only press her hand to his
lips. After a pause, she proceeded--
"Look up, my dear boy! and attend to me.
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