s; the moans that issued
between them with appalling energy found an accompaniment in the howling
of the storm without.

In spite of every sign of coming dissolution, the most striking thing
about the dying face was its incredible power. It was no ordinary spirit
that wrestled there with Death. The eyes glared with strange fixity of
gaze from the cavernous sockets hollowed by disease. It seemed as if
Bartolommeo sought to kill some enemy sitting at the foot of his bed by
the intent gaze of dying eyes. That steady remorseless look was the
more appalling because the head that lay upon the pillow was passive and
motionless as a skull upon a doctor's table. The outlines of the body,
revealed by the coverlet, were no less rigid and stiff; he lay there as
one dead, save for those eyes. There was something automatic about the
moaning sounds that came from the mouth. Don Juan felt something like
shame that he must be brought thus to his father's bedside, wearing a
courtesan's bouquet, redolent of the fragrance of the banqueting-chamber
and the fumes of wine.

"You were enjoying yourself!" the old man cried as he saw his son.

Even as he spoke the pure high notes of a woman's voice, sustained by
the sound of the viol on which she accompanied her song, rose above the
rattle of the storm against the casements, and floated up to the chamber
of death. Don Juan stopped his ears against the barbarous answer to his
father's speech.

"I bear you no grudge, my child," Bartolommeo went on.

The words were full of kindness, but they hurt Don Juan; he could not
pardon this heart-searching goodness on his father's part.

"What a remorseful memory for me!" he cried, hypocritically.

"Poor Juanino," the dying man went on, in a smothered voice, "I have
always been so kind to you, that you could not surely desire my death?"

"Oh, if it were only possible to keep you here by giving up a part of my
own life!" cried Don Juan.

("We can always _say_ this sort of thing," the spendthrift thought; "it
is as if I laid the whole world at my mistress' feet.")

The thought had scarcely crossed his mind when the old poodle barked.
Don Juan shivered; the response was so intelligent that he fancied the
dog must have understood him.

"I was sure that I could count upon you, my son!" cried the dying man.
"I shall live. So be it; you shall be satisfied. I shall live, but
without depriving you of a single day of your life."

"He is raving," thought