d not bear the name of her husband.

The door opened, and only one lady entered. She was dressed in
mourning, and her face was covered by a thick veil, the thick crape
concealing her features. It was the Countess Theudelinde. She had on a
long black travelling-cloak with two capes. She came to Ivan and held
out to him the finger-tips of her black glove, which he carried to his
lips, while she murmured some words of greeting.

"Where is the marquise?" asked Ivan, anxiously.

"She will be here immediately; but it is very difficult to bring her
in."

Ivan conducted the lady to a sofa and asked her to be seated.

"Do not go to meet her," continued the countess. "She will find her
way. You will receive her kindly, won't you?"

"Oh, countess," Ivan began; but Theudelinde interrupted impatiently.

"No phrases, please. We have not come here for polite words or to
exchange compliments. We come to make a request; the answer is simple.
Yes or no. Angela wants to remain here."

"Here!" repeated Ivan, horrified.

"Yes, here! Do not be afraid; not in this house, but in the
neighborhood. She wishes to remain near you--never to leave you--that
is her desire; and she has a right to have her wishes granted."

Ivan began to think he must be dreaming; he did not know what to say,
but his thoughts were distracted by a strange noise outside. Along the
passage came the heavy tread of several men. The door opened and four
miners came in, carrying between them a metal coffin, on the lid of
which lay a white wreath of _repousse_ silver.

The wreath surrounded the arms of the Bondavary family, and underneath
was carved in gold letters--

ANGELA BONDAVARY.

The coffin was placed upon the oak table. Ivan stood as if he were
turned into a statue, his eyes fixed upon the wreath and the name
underneath.

Theudelinde got up and seized his hand, saying, in a low, agitated
voice:

"This is the Countess Angela Bondavary, who begs of you, as the master
here in Bondavara, to find for her a small place in the family vault
of the castle, where she may lie among her own people, waiting for the
coming of Jesus Christ--the Bridegroom of all poor women whose lives
have been desolated."

"How is it possible that she is dead?" said Ivan, who was deeply
moved.

"How? Very easily! When you throw a rose into the fire, in two minutes
you will only find its ashes. I had just heard her laugh; she was
quite gay. Then she went too near the stove