ressible anguish distorted Sauvresy's features. She kill
herself! If so, his vengeance was vain; his own death would then
appear only ridiculous and absurd. And he knew that Bertha would
not be wanting in courage at the critical moment.

She waited, while he reflected.

"You are free," said he, at last, "this would merely be a sacrifice
to Hector. If you died, he would marry Laurence Courtois, and in
a year would forget even our name."

Bertha sprang to her feet; she pictured Hector to herself married
and happy. A triumphant smile, like a sun's ray, brightened
Sauvresy's pale face. He had touched the right chord. He might
sleep in peace as to his vengeance. Bertha would live. He knew
how hateful to each other were these enemies whom he left linked
together.

The servants came in one by one; nearly all of them had been long
in Sauvresy's service, and they loved him as a good master. They
wept and groaned to see him lying there so pale and haggard, with
the stamp of death already on his forehead. Sauvresy spoke to
them in a feeble voice, which was occasionally interrupted by
distressing hiccoughs. He thanked them, he said, for their
attachment and fidelity, and wished to apprise them that he had
left each of them a goodly sum in his will. Then turning to Bertha
and Hector, he resumed:

"You have witnessed, my people, the care and solicitude with which
my bedside has been surrounded by this incomparable friend and my
adored Bertha. You have seen their devotion. Alas, I know how
keen their sorrow will be! But if they wish to soothe my last
moments and give me a happy death, they will assent to the prayer
which I earnestly make, to them, and will swear to espouse each
other after I am gone. Oh, my beloved friends, this seems cruel
to you now; but you know not how all human pain is dulled in me.
You are young, life has yet much happiness in store for you. I
conjure you yield to a dying man's entreaties!"

They approached the bed, and Sauvresy put Bertha's hand into
Hector's.

"Do you swear to obey me?" asked he.

They shuddered to hold each other's hands, and seemed near
fainting; but they answered, and were heard to murmur:

"We swear it."

The servants retired, grieved at this distressing scene, and
Bertha muttered:

"Oh, 'tis infamous, 'tis horrible!"

"Infamous--yes," returned Sauvresy, "but not more so than your
caresses, Bertha, or than your hand-pressures, Hector; not more
horrible than your plans, t