sorrowful, preparing herself to protect the world for
which her son was about to die.

"And you condemn me at the moment when your mother absolves me,--if
indeed I am guilty."

"You, _you_," she said, "always _your self_!"

The tones of her voice revealed the determined hatred of a Corsican,
implacable as the judgments of those who, not having studied life, admit
of no extenuation of faults committed against the laws of the heart.

An hour went by in deepest silence. The Abbe Birotteau came to us after
receiving the countess's general confession, and we followed him back to
the room where Henriette, under one of those impulses which often come
to noble minds, all sisters of one intent, had made them dress her in
the long white garment which was to be her shroud. We found her sitting
up; beautiful from expiation, beautiful in hope. I saw in the fireplace
the black ashes of my letters which had just been burned, a sacrifice
which, as her confessor afterwards told me, she had not been willing to
make until the hour of her death. She smiled upon us all with the smile
of other days. Her eyes, moist with tears, gave evidence of inward
lucidity; she saw the celestial joys of the promised land.

"Dear Felix," she said, holding out her hand and pressing mine, "stay
with us. You must be present at the last scene of my life, not the least
painful among many such, but one in which you are concerned."

She made a sign and the door was closed. At her request the count sat
down; the Abbe Birotteau and I remained standing. Then with Manette's
help the countess rose and knelt before the astonished count, persisting
in remaining there. A moment after, when Manette had left the room, she
raised her head which she had laid upon her husband's knees.

"Though I have been a faithful wife to you," she said, in a faint voice,
"I have sometimes failed in my duty. I have just prayed to God to give
me strength to ask your pardon. I have given to a friendship outside
of my family more affectionate care than I have shown to you. Perhaps
I have sometimes irritated you by the comparisons you may have made
between these cares, these thoughts, and those I gave to you. I have
had," she said, in a sinking voice, "a deep friendship, which no one,
not even he who has been its object, has fully known. Though I have
continued virtuous according to all human laws, though I have been
a irreproachable wife to you, still other thoughts, voluntary or
invol