entrance to the private way leading to the duchess's room.
Bertrand was awaiting him, lantern in hand. Etienne reached the library
of the Cardinal d'Herouville, and there he was made to wait with
Beauvouloir while Bertrand went on to unlock the other doors, and make
sure that the hated son could pass through his father's house without
danger. The duke did not awake. Advancing with light steps, Etienne and
Beauvouloir heard in that immense chateau no sound but the plaintive
groans of the dying woman. Thus the very circumstances attending the
birth of Etienne were renewed at the death of his mother. The same
tempest, same agony, same dread of awaking the pitiless giant, who,
on this occasion at least, slept soundly. Bertrand, as a further
precaution, took Etienne in his arms and carried him through the duke's
room, intending to give some excuse as to the state of the duchess if
the duke awoke and detected him. Etienne's heart was horribly wrung by
the same fears which filled the minds of these faithful servants; but
this emotion prepared him, in a measure, for the sight that met his eyes
in that signorial room, which he had never re-entered since the fatal
day when, as a child, the paternal curse had driven him from it.

On the great bed, where happiness never came, he looked for his beloved,
and scarcely found her, so emaciated was she. White as her own laces,
with scarcely a breath left, she gathered up all her strength to clasp
Etienne's hand, and to give him her whole soul, as heretofore, in a
look. Chaverny had bequeathed to her all his life in a last farewell.
Beauvouloir and Bertrand, the mother and the sleeping duke were all
once more assembled. Same place, same scene, same actors! but this was
funereal grief in place of the joys of motherhood; the night of death
instead of the dawn of life. At that moment the storm, threatened by the
melancholy moaning of the sea since sundown, suddenly burst forth.

"Dear flower of my life!" said the mother, kissing her son. "You were
taken from my bosom in the midst of a tempest, and in a tempest I am
taken from you. Between these storms all life has been stormy to me,
except the hours I have spent with you. This is my last joy, mingled
with my last pangs. Adieu, my only love! adieu, dear image of two souls
that will soon be reunited! Adieu, my only joy--pure joy! adieu, my own
beloved!"

"Let me follow thee!" cried Etienne.

"It would be your better fate!" she said, two te