ible be said for me, and believe that in my
death I am still ever yours, D'AUBRAY."

The doctor read this letter carefully; then he told her that one of her
phrases was not right--the one about her enemies. "For you have no
other enemies," said he, "than your own crimes. Those whom you call your
enemies are those who love the memory of your father and brothers, whom
you ought to have loved more than they do."

"But those who have sought my death," she replied, "are my enemies, are
they not, and is it not a Christian act to forgive them?"

"Madame," said the doctor, "they are not your enemies, but you are
the enemy of the human race: nobody can think without, horror of your
crimes."

"And so, my father," she replied, "I feel no resentment towards
them, and I desire to meet in Paradise those who have been chiefly
instrumental in taking me and bringing me here."

"Madame," said the doctor, "what mean you by this? Such words are used
by some when they desire people's death. Explain, I beg, what you mean."

"Heaven forbid," cried the marquise, "that you should understand me
thus! Nay, may God grant them long prosperity in this world and infinite
glory in the next! Dictate a new letter, and I will write just what you
please."

When a fresh letter had been written, the marquise would attend to
nothing but her confession, and begged the doctor to take the pen for
her. "I have done so many wrong thing's," she said, "that if I only gave
you a verbal confession, I should never be sure I had given a complete
account."

Then they both knelt down to implore the grace of the Holy Spirit. They
said a 'Veni Creator' and a 'Salve Regina', and the doctor then rose and
seated himself at a table, while the marquise, still on her knees,
began a Confiteor and made her whole confession. At nine o'clock, Father
Chavigny, who had brought Doctor Pirot in the morning, came in again.
The marquise seemed annoyed, but still put a good face upon it. "My
father," said she, "I did not expect to see you so late; pray leave me
a few minutes longer with the doctor." He retired. "Why has he come?"
asked the marquise.

"It is better for you not to be alone," said the doctor.

"Then do you mean to leave me?" cried the marquise, apparently
terrified.

"Madame, I will do as you wish," he answered; "but you would be acting
kindly if you could spare me for a few hours. I might go home, and
Father Chavigny would stay with you."

"Ah!" she cried, wr