ever console myself.

"Be careful of your life, which is menaced, and which will be dear to me
from the moment I am not obliged to see an enemy in you.

"Your affectionate

"ANNE"

Buckingham collected all his remaining strength to listen to the reading
of the letter; then, when it was ended, as if he had met with a bitter
disappointment, he asked, "Have you nothing else to say to me by the
living voice, Laporte?"

"The queen charged me to tell you to watch over yourself, for she had
advice that your assassination would be attempted."

"And is that all--is that all?" replied Buckingham, impatiently.

"She likewise charged me to tell you that she still loved you."

"Ah," said Buckingham, "God be praised! My death, then, will not be to
her as the death of a stranger!"

Laporte burst into tears.

"Patrick," said the due, "bring me the casket in which the diamond studs
were kept."

Patrick brought the object desired, which Laporte recognized as having
belonged to the queen.

"Now the scent bag of white satin, on which her cipher is embroidered in
pearls."

Patrick again obeyed.

"Here, Laporte," said Buckingham, "these are the only tokens I ever
received from her--this silver casket and these two letters. You will
restore them to her Majesty; and as a last memorial"--he looked round
for some valuable object--"you will add--"

He still sought; but his eyes, darkened by death, encountered only the
knife which had fallen from the hand of Felton, still smoking with the
blood spread over its blade.

"And you will add to them this knife," said the duke, pressing the hand
of Laporte. He had just strength enough to place the scent bag at the
bottom of the silver casket, and to let the knife fall into it, making
a sign to Laporte that he was no longer able to speak; than, in a last
convulsion, which this time he had not the power to combat, he slipped
from the sofa to the floor.

Patrick uttered a loud cry.

Buckingham tried to smile a last time; but death checked his thought,
which remained engraved on his brow like a last kiss of love.

At this moment the duke's surgeon arrived, quite terrified; he was
already on board the admiral's ship, where they had been obliged to seek
him.

He approached the duke, took his hand, held it for an instant in his
own, and letting it fall, "All is useless," said he, "he is dead."

"Dead, dead!" cried Patrick.

At this cry all the crowd re-entered the apartment, and