to see our Philip grow and thrive." She loved our grandson with all her tenderness of which she was capable. Her words made a deep impression upon me. I said nothing, but I clearly felt what was going on in her soul.

Two weeks before the end the real agony started. Breathing became increasingly difficult for her so that we finally decided to take her to the hospital. I felt what was coming and my heart was numb. When Fermin, Polly and I came to see her the next morning, we found her in an oxygen tent. She smiled at us as we entered and asked me to open the curtain. Then she kissed us tenderly. When she noticed the gloomy look on Fermin's face she said: "What is the matter, Fermin? You should not be sad, my dear boy." Then she threw her arms around my neck and said in a weak but distinct voice: "I will fight to the last, my dear, and if I fail, you will know it was not my fault." Then she kissed us all with great feeling, as though she wished to say fairwell, and sank exhausted upon her pillow. We left the room in silence, to let her rest. When we returned two hours later, she lay in the same position, but she was already unconscious. The doctor told us that her blood pressure was sinking. An hour later she breathed her last.

She died on November 23rd, 1955 and was cremated

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