t off.

I know not what is going on within me, my friend--all these blows are
striking me in such rapid succession. It is the lightning!

FIVE O'CLOCK P.M.

The old priest whom I have often met at the chateau has been sent for in
haste. He is a friend of Madame de Malouet, a simple old man, full of
charity; I dared not question him. I know not what is going on. I fear to
hear, and yet my ear catches eagerly the least noises, the most
insignificant sounds; a closing door, a rapid step on the stairs strikes
me dumb with terror. And yet--so quick! it seems impossible!

* * * * *

Paul, my friend--my brother! where are you?--all is over!

An hour ago I saw the doctor and the priest coming down. Monsieur de
Malouet was following them.

"Go up," he told me. "Come, courage, sir. Be a man!" I walked into the
cell; Madame de Malouet had remained alone there; she was kneeling by the
bedside and beckoned me to approach. I gazed upon her who was about to
cease suffering. A few hours had been enough to stamp upon that lovely
face all the ravages of death; but life and thought still lingered in her
eyes; she recognized me at once.

"Monsieur," she began; then, after a pause: "George, I have loved you
much. Forgive my having embittered your life with the memory of this
sad incident!"

I fell on my knees; I tried to speak, I could not; my tears flowed hot and
fast upon her hand already cold and inert as a piece of marble.

"And you, too, madam," she added; "forgive me the trouble I have given
you--the grief I am causing you now."

"My child!" said the old lady, "I bless you from the bottom of my heart."

Then there was a pause, in the midst of which I suddenly heard a deep and
broken breath--ah! that supreme breath, that last sob of a deadly sorrow;
God also has heard it, has received it!

He has heard it--He hears also my ardent, my weeping prayer. I must
believe that He does, my friend. Yes, that I may not yield at this moment
to some temptation of despair, I must firmly believe in a God who loves
us, who looks with compassionate eyes upon the anguish of our feeble
hearts--who will deign some day to tie again with His paternal hand the
knots broken by cruel death!--ah! in presence of the lifeless remains of a
beloved being, what heart so withered, what brain so blighted by doubt, as
not to repel forever the odious thought that these sacred words: God,
Justice, Love, Immortality--are but v