in a continual state of terror, by keeping the idea of death
constantly before their eyes.

They soon manage to obtain the mastery over such persons, scrutinize
their consciences as well as the cleverest priest could do, make sure of
being well paid for their complicity as soon as they have obtained a
footing anywhere, and drain their patients of their secrets, in order to
use them as a weapon for extorting money on occasions. He felt sure
immediately that this middle-aged lady wanted something of him, as by
some extraordinary perversion of taste, he was rather fond of the
remains of a good-looking woman, if they were well got up, and offered
to him; of that high flavor which arises from soft lips, which had been
made tender through years of love, from gray hair powdered with gold,
from a body engaged in its last struggle, and which dreams of one more
victory before abdicating power altogether, he did not hesitate to
become his new patient's lover.

When winter came, however, a thorough change took place in Charlotte's
health, that had hitherto been so good. She had no strength left, she
felt ill after the slightest exertion, complained of internal pains, and
spent whole days lying on the couch, with set eyes and without uttering
a word, so that everybody thought that she was dying of one of those
mysterious maladies which cannot be coped with, but which, by degrees,
undermines the whole system. It was sad to see her rapidly sinking,
lying motionless on her pillows, while a mist seemed to have come over
her eyes, and her hands lay helplessly on the bed and her mouth seemed
sealed by some invisible finger. Monsieur de Saint-Juery was in despair;
he cried like a child, and he suffered as if somebody had plunged a
knife into him, when the doctor said to him in his unctuous voice:

"I know that you are a brave man, my dear sir, and I may venture to tell
you the whole truth.... Madame de Saint-Juery is doomed, irrevocably
doomed.... Nothing but a miracle can save her, and alas! there are no
miracles in these days. The end is only a question of a few hours, and
may come quite suddenly...."

Monsieur de Saint-Juery had thrown himself into a chair, and was sobbing
bitterly, covering his face with his hands.

"My poor dear, my poor darling," he said, through his tears.

"Pray compose yourself, and be brave," the doctor continued, sitting
down by his side, "for I have to say something serious to you, and to
convey to you o