de, are you ready? and will you, my lord, lead the
way with the lantern?"

The mournful little procession moved slowly forward; the howling dog
was quiet at last, as if his duty was done, and a deathlike stillness
prevailed around them. It was well that there were no passers-by at that
hour; it would have been a strange sight, almost a frightful one, for
any such, for they might well have supposed that a hideous crime had
been committed; the two men bearing the dead body away at night, lighted
by the third with his lantern, which threw their shadows, long, black
and misshapen, upon the startling whiteness of the snow, as they
advanced with measured tread. Those who had remained with the chariot
saw from afar the glimmer of de Sigognac's lantern, and wondered why
they walked so slowly, not perceiving at that distance their sad burden.
Scapin and Leander hastened forward to meet them, and as soon as
they got near enough to see them distinctly the former shouted to
them--"Well, what is the matter? why are you carrying Matamore like
that? is he ill, or has he hurt himself?"

"He is not ill," answered Blazius, quietly, as they met, "and nothing can
ever hurt him again--he is cured forever of the strange malady we call
life, which always ends in death."

"Is he really dead?" Scapin asked, with a sob he did not even try to
suppress, as he bent to look at the face of the poor comic actor, for
he had a tender heart under his rough exterior, and had cherished a very
sincere affection for poor Matamoie.

"Very dead indeed, for he is frozen as well," Blazius replied, in a
voice that belied the levity of his words.

"He has lived! as they always say at the end of a tragedy," said Herode;
"but relieve us, please, it is your turn now; we have carried the poor
fellow a long way, and it is well for us that he is no heavier."

Scapin took Herode's place, reverently and tenderly, while Leander
relieved the pedant--though this office was little to his taste--and
they resumed their march, soon reaching the chariot. In spite of the
cold and snow, Isabelle and Serafina sprang to the ground to meet them,
but the duenna did not leave her seat--with age had come apathy, and
selfishness had never been wanting. When they saw poor Matamore stiff
and motionless, and were told that he was dead, the two young women were
greatly shocked and moved, and Isabelle, bursting into tears, raised her
pure eyes to heaven and breathed a fervent prayer for