adame Jules always found strength to
smile at her husband. She pitied him, knowing that soon he would be
alone. It was a double death,--that of life, that of love; but life grew
feebler, and love grew mightier. One frightful night there was, when
Clemence passed through that delirium which precedes the death of youth.
She talked of her happy love, she talked of her father; she related her
mother's revelations on her death-bed, and the obligations that mother
had laid upon her. She struggled, not for life, but for her love which
she could not leave.

"Grant, O God!" she said, "that he may not know I want him to die with
me."

Jules, unable to bear the scene, was at that moment in the adjoining
room, and did not hear the prayer, which he would doubtless have
fulfilled.

When this crisis was over, Madame Jules recovered some strength. The
next day she was beautiful and tranquil; hope seemed to come to her; she
adorned herself, as the dying often do. Then she asked to be alone all
day, and sent away her husband with one of those entreaties made so
earnestly that they are granted as we grant the prayer of a little
child.

Jules, indeed, had need of this day. He went to Monsieur de Maulincour
to demand the satisfaction agreed upon between them. It was not without
great difficulty that he succeeded in reaching the presence of the
author of these misfortunes; but the vidame, when he learned that the
visit related to an affair of honor, obeyed the precepts of his whole
life, and himself took Jules into the baron's chamber.

Monsieur Desmarets looked about him in search of his antagonist.

"Yes! that is really he," said the vidame, motioning to a man who was
sitting in an arm-chair beside the fire.

"Who is it? Jules?" said the dying man in a broken voice.

Auguste had lost the only faculty that makes us live--memory. Jules
Desmarets recoiled with horror at this sight. He could not even
recognize the elegant young man in that thing without--as Bossuet
said--a name in any language. It was, in truth, a corpse with whitened
hair, its bones scarce covered with a wrinkled, blighted, withered
skin,--a corpse with white eyes motionless, mouth hideously gaping,
like those of idiots or vicious men killed by excesses. No trace of
intelligence remained upon that brow, nor in any feature; nor was
there in that flabby flesh either color or the faintest appearance of
circulating blood. Here was a shrunken, withered creature brought t