The
boyishness, vivacity, and motion, had quite vanished. There were a depth
and hollowness in his eyes which gave a singular power to his face.
There must have been a vein of genuine strength and nobleness in the
man, or he would have been too much crushed to show any thing but weak
despair or brutal sullenness. Had Professor Valeyon's attention been
directed to the point, he might have recognized his pupil as being now
thoroughly grounded in the elements of emotional experience.

The old gentleman, in dressing-gown and slippers, came thumping hastily
down-stairs, in response to Bressant's summons. The strange solemnity in
the latter's tone, no less than the ominousness of the hour, probably
gave him premonition of some disaster. He reached the threshold of the
room, and paused a moment there, settling his spectacles with trembling
fingers, and looking from one silent face to another. The room was
lighted only by the declining moon, which shone coldly through the
windows. The bed, and that which was on it, were in shadow. In an
instant or two, however, the professor's eyes made the discovery to
which none of those who stood about had had the nerve to help him. And
then the old man proved himself to be the most stout-hearted of them
all. He only said "Sophie" in a voice so profoundly indrawn as scarcely
to be audible; then walked unfalteringly across the room, bent over the
bed, and proceeded to examine whether there were yet life in his
daughter or not. Even the moonlight seemed to wait and listen.

"Bring a candle," said be, presently, breaking the awful silence.

Cornelia brought it, and the warmer light inspired a sickly flicker of
hope into the expectant faces. The little ormolu-clock on the
mantel-piece whirred, and struck half-past one. As the ring of the last
stroke faded away, Professor Valeyon raised himself, and turned his face
toward the others. So strongly did his soul inform his harsh and
deeply-lined features, that it seemed, for a moment, as if there were a
majestic angel where he stood.

"Be of good cheer," quoth the old man--for no smaller words than those
which Christ had spoken seemed adequate to clothe his thought; "she is
not dead; we shall hear her speak again."

Bressant threw up his arms, as if about to shout aloud; but only gave
utterance to a gasping breath, and, stepping backward, leaned heavily
against the wall, near the door. Cornelia, standing in the centre of the
room, broke into qui