good-for-nothing." "But you should respect the dead," would expostulate
Papa. "YOU were the cause of his death; YOU frightened him until he
could no longer bear the thought of the humiliation which you were about
to inflict upon him. Away from me, criminal!" Upon that St. Jerome would
fall upon his knees and implore forgiveness, and when the forty
days were ended my soul would fly to Heaven, and see there something
wonderfully beautiful, white, and transparent, and know that it was
Mamma.

And that something would embrace and caress me. Yet, all at once, I
should feel troubled, and not know her. "If it be you," I should say
to her, "show yourself more distinctly, so that I may embrace you in
return." And her voice would answer me, "Do you not feel happy thus?"
and I should reply, "Yes, I do, but you cannot REALLY caress me, and I
cannot REALLY kiss your hand like this." "But it is not necessary," she
would say. "There can be happiness here without that,"--and I should
feel that it was so, and we should ascend together, ever higher and
higher, until--Suddenly I feel as though I am being thrown down again,
and find myself sitting on the trunk in the dark store-room (my cheeks
wet with tears and my thoughts in a mist), yet still repeating the
words, "Let us ascend together, higher and higher." Indeed, it was a
long, long while before I could remember where I was, for at that moment
my mind's eye saw only a dark, dreadful, illimitable void. I tried to
renew the happy, consoling dream which had been thus interrupted by the
return to reality, but, to my surprise, I found that, as soon as ever
I attempted to re-enter former dreams, their continuation became
impossible, while--which astonished me even more--they no longer gave me
pleasure.