After many urgent entreaties, my dear child consented.
For several mornings I went with Flora to the artist's room, though I
could ill afford the time, for our daily bread was to be earned. When
he was finishing the picture, Flora went alone. One day she returned,
and flinging into my lap her little green purse, she said: 'The
picture does not need me any more, and I am very glad, for my head
aches badly. They say the portrait is very like me, mother.'
"I resolved to go and see it the day following, but when the time came
that I first looked upon it, my dear child began to fade in my arms,
until she died. And here she is buried. Since then I go to the
artist's room to see her portrait, and there, full of life and beauty,
she stands before me, and I have permission to see it every day.
"But I am about to leave this country for our native land. My aged
father has long wished to return to his own country, and we shall soon
sail with our friends for Italy. I must leave the dear child here. But
if I can purchase the picture of the artist, I shall be happy. We are
poor; but by the sale of some little articles, we have raised money
enough to buy the picture, at the price which the artist demands for a
similar picture.
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