d a flame? My
eyes rain torrents of tears--and yet they must not fall when I am with
him. I fly to him, and he seeks me. My despair is all within. This
torture Dante forgot to place in his _Inferno._ Come to see me die!

LVII. THE COMTESSE DE L'ESTORADE TO THE COMTE DE L'ESTORADE THE CHALET,
August 7th.

My love,--Take the children away to Provence without me; I remain with
Louise, who has only a few days yet to live. I cannot leave either her
or her husband, for whose reason I fear.

You know the scrap of letter which sent me flying to Ville d'Avray,
picking up the doctors on my way. Since then I have not left my darling
friend, and it has been impossible to write to you, for I have sat up
every night for a fortnight.

When I arrived, I found her with Gaston, in full dress, beautiful,
laughing, happy. It was a heroic falsehood! They were like two lovely
children together in their restored confidence. For a moment I was
deceived, like Gaston, by the effrontery; but Louise pressed my hand,
whispering:

"He must not know; I am dying."

An icy chill fell over me as I felt her burning hand and saw the red
spots on her cheeks. I congratulated myself on my prudence in leaving
the doctors in the wood till they should be sent for.

"Leave us for a little," she said to Gaston. "Two women who have not met
for five years have plenty of secrets to talk over, and Renee, I have no
doubt, has things to confide in me."

Directly we were alone, she flung herself into my arms, unable longer to
restrain her tears.

"Tell me about it," I said. "I have brought with me, in case of need,
the best surgeon and the best physician from the hospital, and Bianchon
as well; there are four altogether."

"Ah!" she cried, "have them in at once if they can save me, if there is
still time. The passion which hurried me to death now cries for life!"

"But what have you done to yourself?"

"I have in a few days brought myself to the last stage of consumption."

"But how?"

"I got myself into a profuse perspiration in the night, and then ran out
and lay down by the side of the lake in the dew. Gaston thinks I have a
cold, and I am dying!"

"Send him to Paris; I will fetch the doctors myself," I said, as I
rushed out wildly to the spot where I had left them.

Alas! my love, after the consultation was over, not one of the doctors
gave me the least hope; they all believe that Louise will die with the
fall of the leaves. The dear child