grown so clammy,
she could no longer refuse to believe that her son might be dying. Still
she was not softened; she could not turn to Madeleine and embrace her,
as the dying man so obviously desired.

"Maurice," said his father.

Maurice approached, and the countess instinctively drew a step back, to
give him room. She had dropped the marble hand, and Maurice took it in
his.

"Maurice, you, too, have much to pardon. Madeleine has forgiven,--will
not you?"

"Oh, my father, do not speak of that! All is well between us; but, if we
must indeed lose you,--tell me,--tell Madeleine that you give her to me.
She loves me, she has never loved any other; and I never _have_
loved,--never _can_ love any woman but her. Bid her be my wife, for she
has refused to let me claim her without your consent and my
grandmother's."

Count Tristan tried to speak, but the words died upon the lips that
essayed to form themselves into a smile of assent. He lifted Madeleine's
hand and placed it in that of Maurice.

A convulsed groan, or sob, broke from the countess, but it was unheard
by her son; his spirit had taken its flight.

It had gone, stained with many evil passions,--perhaps crimes,--but what
its sentence was before the High Tribunal, who shall dare to say? That
erring spirit had recognized good, and therefore could not be wholly
unsanctified by good; it had repented, and therefore sin was no longer
loved; all the rest was dark; but He who, speaking in metaphors, forbade
the "bruised reed" to be broken, or "smoking flax" to be quenched,
might have seen light, invisible to mortal eyes, even about a soul as
shadowed as that of Count Tristan de Gramont.

The countess had been the only one who doubted that he would die, yet
she was the first to perceive that he was gone. She uttered a piercing,
discordant cry, and with her arms frantically extended, flung herself
upon the corpse. Her long self-restraint, her curbing back of emotion,
made the sudden shock more terrible; she fell into violent convulsions.

Maurice bore her into the adjoining apartment, followed by Madeleine,
Bertha, and Mrs. Lawkins. When the convulsions ceased she was delirious
with fever.

Madeleine ordered the room Maurice had occupied to be speedily prepared
for her reception. Her delirium lasted for many days. Had she recovered
her senses, she would assuredly have commanded that the corpse of her
son should be removed to the hotel, that his funeral might take pl