n his
smile, that took me by the throat; only death and love know or have ever
seen it. And when he spoke, it seemed to shame his coarse talk.

He held out his arms as if to embrace me. I drew near with incredible
shrinkings, and surrendered myself to his arms with overwhelming
disgust. But he only drew my ear down to his lips.

"Trust me," he whispered. "_Je suis bon bougre, moi._ I'll take it to
hell with me and tell the devil."

Why should I go on to reproduce his grossness and trivialities? All that
he thought, at that hour, was even noble, though he could not clothe it
otherwise than in the language of a brutal farce. Presently he bade me
call the doctor; and when that officer had come in, raised himself a
little up in his bed, pointed first to himself and then to me, who stood
weeping by his side, and several times repeated the expression,
"Frinds--frinds--dam frinds."

To my great surprise the doctor appeared very much affected. He nodded
his little bob-wigged head at us, and said repeatedly, "All right,
Johnny--me comprong."

Then Goguelat shook hands with me, embraced me again, and I went out of
the room sobbing like an infant.

How often have I not seen it, that the most unpardonable fellows make
the happiest exits! It is a fate we may well envy them. Goguelat was
detested in life; in the last three days, by his admirable staunchness
and consideration, he won every heart; and when word went about the
prison the same evening that he was no more, the voice of conversation
became hushed as in a house of mourning.

For myself, I was like a man distracted; I cannot think what ailed me:
when I awoke the following day, nothing remained of it; but that night I
was filled with a gloomy fury of the nerves. I had killed him; he had
done his utmost to protect me; I had seen him with that awful smile. And
so illogical and useless is this sentiment of remorse that I was ready,
at a word or a look, to quarrel with somebody else. I presume the
disposition of my mind was imprinted on my face; and when, a little
after, I overtook, saluted, and addressed the doctor, he looked on me
with commiseration and surprise.

I had asked him if it was true.

"Yes," he said, "the fellow's gone."

"Did he suffer much?" I asked.

"Devil a bit; passed away like a lamb," said he. He looked on me a
little, and I saw his hand go to his fob. "Here, take that! no sense in
fretting," he said, and, putting a silver twopenny-bit in my ha