p, and, when I came to her bedside, I was shocked
to see her countenance--it was so changed! She looked piteously up at
me, and desired I would call the Marquis again, for he was not yet come,
and tell him she had something particular to say to him. At last, he
came, and he did, to be sure, seem very sorry to see her, but he said
very little. My lady told him she felt herself to be dying, and wished
to speak with him alone, and then I left the room, but I shall never
forget his look as I went.'

'When I returned, I ventured to remind my lord about sending for a
doctor, for I supposed he had forgot to do so, in his grief; but my lady
said it was then too late; but my lord, so far from thinking so, seemed
to think light of her disorder--till she was seized with such terrible
pains! O, I never shall forget her shriek! My lord then sent off a man
and horse for the doctor, and walked about the room and all over the
chateau in the greatest distress; and I staid by my dear lady, and did
what I could to ease her sufferings. She had intervals of ease, and in
one of these she sent for my lord again; when he came, I was going, but
she desired I would not leave her. O! I shall never forget what a
scene passed--I can hardly bear to think of it now! My lord was almost
distracted, for my lady behaved with so much goodness, and took such
pains to comfort him, that, if he ever had suffered a suspicion to enter
his head, he must now have been convinced he was wrong. And to be sure
he did seem to be overwhelmed with the thought of his treatment of her,
and this affected her so much, that she fainted away.

'We then got my lord out of the room; he went into his library, and
threw himself on the floor, and there he staid, and would hear no
reason, that was talked to him. When my lady recovered, she enquired
for him, but, afterwards, said she could not bear to see his grief, and
desired we would let her die quietly. She died in my arms, ma'amselle,
and she went off as peacefully as a child, for all the violence of her
disorder was passed.'

Dorothee paused, and wept, and Emily wept with her; for she was much
affected by the goodness of the late Marchioness, and by the meek
patience, with which she had suffered.

'When the doctor came,' resumed Dorothee, 'alas! he came too late;
he appeared greatly shocked to see her, for soon after her death a
frightful blackness spread all over her face. When he had sent the
attendants out of the room,