the viol by which she was
accompanied, rose above the roar of the storm and penetrated the chamber
of death. Don Juan would gladly have shut out this barbarous confirmation
of his father's words.

Bartholomeo said: "I do not grudge you your pleasure, my child."

These words, full of tenderness, pained Don Juan, who could not forgive
his father for such goodness.

"What, sorrow for me, father!" he cried.

"Poor Juanino," answered the dying man, "I have always been so gentle
toward you that you could not wish for my death?"

"Oh!" cried Don Juan, "if it were possible to preserve your life by giving
you a part of mine!" ("One can always say such things," thought the
spendthrift; "it is as if I offered the world to my mistress.")

The thought had scarcely passed through his mind when the old spaniel
whined. This intelligent voice made Don Juan tremble. He believed that the
dog understood him.

"I knew that I could count on you, my son," said the dying man. "There,
you shall be satisfied. I shall live, but without depriving you of a
single day of your life."

"He raves," said Don Juan to himself.

Then he said, aloud: "Yes, my dearest father, you will indeed live as long
as I do, for your image will be always in my heart."

"It is not a question of that sort of life," said the old nobleman,
gathering all his strength to raise himself to a sitting posture, for he
was stirred by one of those suspicions which are only born at the bedside
of the dying. "Listen, my son," he continued in a voice weakened by this
last effort. "I have no more desire to die than you have to give up your
lady loves, wine, horses, falcons, hounds and money----"

"I can well believe it," thought his son, kneeling beside the pillow and
kissing one of Bartholomeo's cadaverous hands. "But, father," he said
aloud, "my dear father, we must submit to the will of God!"

"God! I am also God!" growled the old man.

"Do not blaspheme!" cried the young man, seeing the menacing expression
which was overspreading his father's features. "Be careful what you say,
for you have received extreme unction and I should never be consoled if
you were to die in a state of sin."

"Are you going to listen to me?" cried the dying man, gnashing his
toothless jaws.

Don Juan held his peace. A horrible silence reigned. Through the dull wail
of the snowstorm came again the melody of the viol and the heavenly voice,
faint as the dawning day.

The dying man smiled.