ium in
the letter.

Roland read it through twice, and stood for an instant silent,
motionless, palpitating, full of bitterness; then pity got the better
of his anger. He went to Amelie, stretched his hand over her, and said:
"Sister, I forgive you."

A slight quiver shook the dying body.

"And now," she said, "call my mother, that I may die in her arms."

Roland opened the door and called Madame de Montrevel. She was waiting
and came at once.

"Is there any change?" she asked, eagerly.

"No," replied Roland, "only Amelie wishes to die in your arms."

Madame de Montrevel fell upon her knees beside her daughter's bed.

Then Amelie, as though an invisible hand had loosened the bonds that
held her rigid body to the bed, rose slowly, parted the hands that
were clasped upon her breast, and let one fall slowly into those of her
mother.

"Mother," she said, "you gave me life and you have taken it from me; I
bless you. It was a mother's act. There was no happiness possible for
your daughter in this life."

Then, letting her other hand fall into that of Roland, who was kneeling
on the other side of the bed, she said: "We have forgiven each other,
brother?"

"Yes, dear Amelie," he replied, "and from the depths of our hearts, I
hope."

"I have still one last request to make."

"What is it?"

"Do not forget that Lord Tanlay has been my best friend."

"Fear nothing," said Roland; "Lord Tanlay's life is sacred to me."

Amelie drew a long breath; then in a voice which showed her growing
weakness, she said: "Farewell, mother; farewell, Roland; kiss Edouard
for me."

Then with a cry from her soul, in which there was more of joy than
sadness, she said: "Here I am, Charles, here I am!"

She fell back upon her bed, withdrawing her two hands as she did so, and
clasping them upon her breast again.

Roland and his mother rose and leaned over her. She had resumed her
first position, except that her eyelids were closed and her breath
extinguished. Amelie's martyrdom was over, she was dead.

CHAPTER LV. INVULNERABLE

Amelie died during the night of Monday and Tuesday, that is to say,
the 2d and 3d of June. On the evening of Thursday, the 5th of June, the
Grand Opera at Paris was crowded for the second presentation of "Ossian,
or the Bards."

The great admiration which the First Consul professed for the poems of
Macpherson was universally known; consequently the National Academy,
as much in flattery as from lit