ou all, Felix. I was blind, and she--slowly,
gradually--led me out of the darkness. I thought I knew what love
was--Paris--you know--all passion, pain; love is peace, happiness. It is
she who taught me. I have peered into the deepest of all mysteries, too
great to be solved in this world." And he fell back on his cushions, and
gazed as if in a trance, murmuring "Ma petite."

High winds had been blowing for the last few days, whipping up the waves
of the blue sea and chasing the clouds across the path of the moon, but
now nature was returning to its pleasanter mood, and the clouds were
gradually dropping into line, and taking up positions just above the
horizon.

Saturday had come.

"Good-night, father; good-night, uncle. I feel much better."

Madeleine and I remained. Vigils and anxiety had told upon her. The
bloom had left her cheeks, and her eyes were heavy. We wheeled his chair
to the window and propped him up with pillows.

"Over that hill," he said, "at 11.59;--curious--just a minute before
midnight--I watched it grow ever since it was a tender crescent."

The full moon rose, a red disc, blood red, emerging from this world of
strife; it ascended, taking its hues from man's yellow gold; then
on--freed from terrestrial mists, excelsior to purer skies.

"See," he said, "a true circle; no beginning and no end. The emblem of
eternity!"

Madeleine was resting her weary head on her arms as they lay folded on
the window-sill. Silvery rays fell through the window and played around
her hair.

"Hush! let her rest. Ma sainte! See now--that halo of light around her
head--a vision." He spoke with an effort, but on that early Sunday
morning he told me how deeply he loved Madeleine.

The sun rose once more on Claude; never again the moon. He was still
sitting on that chair when his head dropped to move no more. We were all
present. Madeleine knelt by his side and buried her face in the grey rug
she had so often laid across his knees. She held his lifeless hand and
wept in silent anguish until we led her away.

* * * * *

Did she know, poor Madeleine, that she too had but a few years to live?
that the germs of the unrelenting disease which had carried off her
friend, her lover, were at work within her?

I was with her when she too closed her eyes,--so peacefully, serenely.
It was a vision of love that passed away from amongst us.

"I am quite happy. You will lay me by his side?"

"Y