ted lips; but no fluttering breath
came through them; all was still. Never had the young duke looked
handsomer. The haughty, fierce expression, habitual with him, had given
place to a serenity that was wonderfully beautiful, though so like
death. As the father contemplated the perfect face and form, so soon to
crumble into dust, he forgot, in his overwhelming grief, that the soul
of a demon had animated it, and he thought sorrowfully of the great name
that had been revered and honoured for centuries past, but which could
not go down to centuries to come. More even than the death of his son
did he mourn for the extinction of his home.

Isabelle stood at the foot of the bed, with clasped hands, praying with
her whole soul for this new-found brother, who had expiated his crime
with his life--the crime of loving too much, which woman pardons so
easily.

The prince, who had been for some time holding his son's icy cold hand
between both his own, suddenly thought that he could feel a slight
warmth in it, and not realizing that he himself had imparted it, allowed
himself to hope again.

"Will the doctor never come?" he cried impatiently; "something may yet
be done; I am persuaded of it."

Even as he spoke the door opened, and the surgeon appeared, followed by
an assistant carrying a case of instruments. He bowed to the prince, and
without saying one word went straight to the bedside, felt the patient's
pulse, put his hand over his heart, and shook his head despondingly.
However, to make sure, he drew a little mirror of polished steel from
his pocket, removed it from its case, and held it for a moment over the
parted lips; then, upon examining its surface closely, he found that
a slight dimness was visible upon it. Surprised at this unexpected
indication of life, he repeated the experiment, and again the little
mirror was dimmed--Isabelle and the prince meantime breathlessly
watching every movement, and even the expression of the doctor's face.

"Life is not entirely extinct," he said at last, turning to the anxious
father, as he wiped the polished surface of his tiny mirror. "The
patient still breathes, and as long as there is life there is hope, But
do not give yourself up to a premature joy that might render your grief
more bitter afterwards. I only say that the Duke of Vallombreuse has not
yet breathed his last; that is all. Now, I am going to probe the wound,
which perhaps is not fatal, as it did not kill him at once.