hile he fixed his
glance on the dying woman and felt her pulse. The face was pinched and
ghastly, a cold perspiration was on the forehead, and the eyelids were
lowered so as to conceal the large dark eyes. After a minute or two,
Meunier walked round to the other side of the bed where Bertha stood, and
with his usual air of gentle politeness towards her begged her to leave
the patient under our care--everything should be done for her--she was no
longer in a state to be conscious of an affectionate presence. Bertha
was hesitating, apparently almost willing to believe his assurance and to
comply. She looked round at the ghastly dying face, as if to read the
confirmation of that assurance, when for a moment the lowered eyelids
were raised again, and it seemed as if the eyes were looking towards
Bertha, but blankly. A shudder passed through Bertha's frame, and she
returned to her station near the pillow, tacitly implying that she would
not leave the room.

The eyelids were lifted no more. Once I looked at Bertha as she watched
the face of the dying one. She wore a rich _peignoir_, and her blond
hair was half covered by a lace cap: in her attire she was, as always, an
elegant woman, fit to figure in a picture of modern aristocratic life:
but I asked myself how that face of hers could ever have seemed to me the
face of a woman born of woman, with memories of childhood, capable of
pain, needing to be fondled? The features at that moment seemed so
preternaturally sharp, the eyes were so hard and eager--she looked like a
cruel immortal, finding her spiritual feast in the agonies of a dying
race. For across those hard features there came something like a flash
when the last hour had been breathed out, and we all felt that the dark
veil had completely fallen. What secret was there between Bertha and
this woman? I turned my eyes from her with a horrible dread lest my
insight should return, and I should be obliged to see what had been
breeding about two unloving women's hearts. I felt that Bertha had been
watching for the moment of death as the sealing of her secret: I thanked
Heaven it could remain sealed for me.

Meunier said quietly, "She is gone." He then gave his arm to Bertha, and
she submitted to be led out of the room.

I suppose it was at her order that two female attendants came into the
room, and dismissed the younger one who had been present before. When
they entered, Meunier had already opened the artery