r. So many disappointed,
betrayed, over-hasty ambitions met in that visit _in extremis_, that
selfish anxiety predominated over every other form of preoccupation.

The faces, strangely enough, expressed neither pity nor grief, rather a
sort of wrath. All those people seemed to bear the duke a grudge for
dying, as if for turning his back upon them. Such remarks as this were
heard: "It's not at all strange after such a life!" And, standing at the
long windows, the gentlemen called one another's attention to some
dainty coupe drawing up amid the constant stream of carriages going and
coming outside, while a gloved hand, its lace sleeve brushing against
the door, handed a folded card to the footman who brought her
information of the invalid's condition.

From time to time one of the intimates of the palace, one of those whom
the dying man had sent for, appeared for a moment in the throng, gave an
order, then vanished, leaving the terrified expression of his face
reflected upon a score of others. Jenkins showed himself in that way for
a moment, cravat untied, waistcoat open, cuffs soiled and rumpled, in
all the disarray of the battle he was waging upstairs against a terrible
opponent. He was at once surrounded, pressed with questions. Certainly
the monkeys flattening their short noses against the bars of the cage,
awed by the unusual uproar and very attentive to what was taking place,
as if they were making a careful study of human expression, had a
magnificent model in the Irish doctor. His grief was superb, the noble
grief of a strong man, which compressed his lips and made his breast
heave.

"The death-agony has begun," he said dolefully. "It is only a matter of
hours now."

And, as Jansoulet drew near, he said to him in an emphatic tone:

"Ah! my friend, what a man! What courage! He has forgotten nobody. Only
a little while ago he spoke to me about you."

"Really?"

"'Poor Nabob!'" he said, "'how is his election coming on?'"

And that was all. He had said nothing more.

Jansoulet hung his head. What had he expected, in heaven's name? Was it
not enough that a man like Mora should have thought of him at such a
moment? He returned to his seat on the bench, relapsed into his former
state of prostration, galvanized by a moment of wild hope, sat there
heedless of the fact that the vast apartment was becoming almost
entirely deserted, and did not notice that he was the last and only
visitor remaining until he heard t