ldier
remained at the threshold of the door, facing the bed.

The count took three or four steps, and was obliged to stop. He wished
to, but could not go further.

Could this dying woman really be Valerie?

He taxed his memory severely; nothing in those withered features,
nothing in that distorted face, recalled the beautiful, the adored
Valerie of his youth. He did not recognise her.

But she knew him, or rather divined his presence. With supernatural
strength, she raised herself, exposing her shoulders and emaciated arms;
then pushing away the ice from her forehead, and throwing back her still
plentiful hair, bathed with water and perspiration, she cried, "Guy!
Guy!"

The count trembled all over.

He did not perceive that which immediately struck all the other persons
present--the transformation in the sick woman. Her contracted features
relaxed, a celestial joy spread over her face, and her eyes, sunken by
disease, assumed an expression of infinite tenderness.

"Guy," said she in a voice heartrending by its sweetness, "you have come
at last! How long, O my God! I have waited for you! You cannot think
what I have suffered by your absence. I should have died of grief, had
it not been for the hope of seeing you again. Who kept you from me?
Your parents again? How cruel of them! Did you not tell them that no one
could love you here below as I do? No, that is not it; I remember. You
were angry when you left me. Your friends wished to separate us; they
said that I was deceiving you with another. Who have I injured that I
should have so many enemies! They envied my happiness; and we were so
happy! But you did not believe the wicked calumny, you scorned it, for
are you not here?"

The nun, who had risen on seeing so many persons enter the sick room,
opened her eyes with astonishment.

"I deceive you?" continued the dying woman; "only a madman would
believe it. Am I not yours, your very own, heart and soul? To me you are
everything: and there is nothing I could expect or hope for from another
which you have not already given me. Was I not yours, alone, from the
very first? I never hesitated to give myself entirely to you; I felt
that I was born for you, Guy, do you remember? I was working for a lace
maker, and was barely earning a living. You told me you were a poor
student; I thought you were depriving yourself for me. You insisted on
having our little apartment on the Quai Saint-Michel done up. It was
lovely, wi