out seven of
the evening before the gate of the Chateau des Noires-Fontaines. To the
great astonishment of the person who was in such haste to arrive, the
gates were open, a crowd of peasants filled the courtyard, and men and
women were kneeling on the portico. Then, his sense of hearing being
rendered more acute by astonishment at what he had seen, he fancied he
heard the ringing of a bell.

He opened the door of the chaise, sprang out, crossed the courtyard
rapidly, went up the portico, and found the stairway leading to the
first floor filled with people.

Up the stairs he ran as he had up the portico, and heard what seemed to
him a murmured prayer from his sister's bedroom. He went to the room.
The door was open. Madame de Montrevel and little Edouard were kneeling
beside Amelie's pillow; Charlotte, Michel, and his son Jacques were
close at hand. The curate of Sainte-Claire was administering the last
sacraments; the dismal scene was lighted only by the light of the
wax-tapers.

The reader has recognized Roland in the traveller whose carriage stopped
at the gate. The bystanders made way for him; he entered the room with
his head uncovered and knelt beside his mother.

The dying girl lay on her back, her hands clasped, her head raised on
her pillows, her eyes fixed upon the sky, in a sort of ecstasy. She
seemed unconscious of Roland's arrival. It was as though her soul were
floating between heaven and earth, while the body still belonged to this
world.

Madame de Montrevel's hand sought that of Roland, and finding it, the
poor mother dropped her head on his shoulder, sobbing. The sobs passed
unnoticed by the dying girl, even as her brother's arrival had done.
She lay there perfectly immovable. Only when the viaticum had been
administered, when the priest's voice promised her eternal blessedness,
her marble lips appeared to live again, and she murmured in a feeble but
intelligible voice: "Amen!"

Then the bell rang again; the choir-boy, who was carrying it, left the
room first, followed by the two acolytes who bore the tapers, then the
cross-bearer, and lastly the priest with the Host. All the strangers
present followed the procession, and the family and household were
left alone. The house, an instant before so full of sound and life, was
silent, almost deserted.

The dying girl had not moved; her lips were closed, her hands clasped,
her eyes raised to heaven. After a few minutes Roland stooped to his
mother'