eir
eyes fixed upon the bed of their sick master. They heard the terrible
question, and a heart-breaking silence followed.

"Yes," replied the old man, heaving the monosyllable from his chest with
a hoarse, broken sigh.

Then arose voices of lamentation, which groaned without measure, and
filled with regrets and prayers the chamber where the agonized father
sought with his eyes the portrait of his son. This was for Athos like
the transition which led to his dream. Without uttering a cry, without
shedding a tear, patient, mild, resigned as a martyr, he raised his eyes
towards Heaven, in order there to see again, rising above the mountain
of Gigelli, the beloved shade that was leaving him at the moment of
Grimaud's arrival. Without doubt, while looking towards the heavens,
resuming his marvelous dream, he repassed by the same road by which the
vision, at once so terrible and sweet, had led him before; for after
having gently closed his eyes, he reopened them and began to smile: he
had just seen Raoul, who had smiled upon him. With his hands joined upon
his breast, his face turned towards the window, bathed by the fresh air
of night, which brought upon its wings the aroma of the flowers and
the woods, Athos entered, never again to come out of it, into the
contemplation of that paradise which the living never see. God willed,
no doubt, to open to this elect the treasures of eternal beatitude,
at this hour when other men tremble with the idea of being severely
received by the Lord, and cling to this life they know, in the dread of
the other life of which they get but merest glimpses by the dismal murky
torch of death. Athos was spirit-guided by the pure serene soul of his
son, which aspired to be like the paternal soul. Everything for this
just man was melody and perfume in the rough road souls take to return
to the celestial country. After an hour of this ecstasy, Athos softly
raised his hands as white as wax; the smile did not quit his lips, and
he murmured low, so low as scarcely to be audible, these three words
addressed to God or to Raoul:

"HERE I AM!"

And his hands fell slowly, as though he himself had laid them on the
bed.

Death had been kind and mild to this noble creature. It had spared him
the tortures of the agony, convulsions of the last departure; had opened
with an indulgent finger the gates of eternity to that noble soul. God
had no doubt ordered it thus that the pious remembrance of this death
shoul