lf from head to foot; her dress was stained with it; she
wrung her hands in horror, and felt that they were wet. Her husband's
blood was everywhere. Then, her brain filled with the fire of raving
madness, she rushed out upon the balcony, and Bergenheim, before his last
breath escaped him, heard the noise of her body as it fell into the
river.

Several days later, the Sentinelle des Vosges contained the following
paragraph, written with the official sorrow found in all death-notices at
thirty sous per line:

"A frightful event, which has just thrown two of our best families into
mourning, has caused the greatest consternation throughout the Remiremont
district. Monsieur le Baron de Bergenheim, one of the richest land-owners
in our province, was killed by accident at a wild-boar hunt on his own
domains. It was by the hand of one of his best friends, Monsieur de
Gerfaut, well known by, his important literary work, which has given its
author a worldwide reputation, that he received his death-blow. Nothing
could equal the grief of the involuntary cause of this catastrophe.
Madame de Bergenheim, upon learning of this tragic accident, was unable
to survive the death of her adored husband, and drowned herself in her
despair. Thus the same grave received this couple, still in the bloom of
life, to whom their great mutual affection seemed to promise a most happy
future."

Twenty-eight months later the Parisian journals, in their turn, inserted,
with but slight variations, the following article:

"Nothing could give any idea of the enthusiasm manifested at the
Theatre-Francais last evening, at the first representation of Monsieur de
Gerfaut's new drama. Never has this writer, whose silence literature has
deplored for too long a time, distinguished himself so highly. His early
departure for the East is announced. Let us hope that this voyage will
turn to the advantage of art, and that the beautiful and sunny countries
of Asia will be a mine for new inspirations for this celebrated poet, who
has taken, in such a glorious manner, his place at the heal of our
literature."

Bergenheim's last wish had been realized; his honor was secure; nobody
outraged by even an incredulous smile the purity of Clemence's
winding-sheet; and the world did not refuse to their double grave the
commonplace consideration that had surrounded their lives.

Clemence's death did not destroy the future of the man who loved her so
passionately, but the mou