tears for Mademoiselle Lecouvreur; the passion of
regret, the tears, the words of endearment lavished upon her. When I
came to myself after a period of frenzy, Gaston Cheverny had thrown
his arm about my neck and was weeping like a woman. The Duchesse de
Bouillon had vanished. Hereault, a lieutenant of police, had told her
he could not answer for her life if she remained in the theater.
Adrienne was still on the stage, supporting her frail body by leaning
against an urn, and tears were dropping upon her cheeks; she looked
like some fair effigy of patient grief. She wished to live--and she
was so soon to die! I know not how the play ended, or if it was ended
at all when the curtain went down.

An agitated crowd blocked all the streets leading to the theater.
Adrienne's coach was waiting to receive her. Presently, there was a
sudden rush. Adrienne was being supported to the coach, and in the
arms of Count Saxe--for she was more carried than led. A murmur of
approval, of relief, of sorrowful satisfaction ran through the
multitude. Adrienne, the paint washed from her face, was of a deathly
pallor, but her eyes were full of light and joy. She was to die, but
yet to die as she would have wished, with Count Saxe once more her
own, won in triumph from her enemy, and the affectionate plaudits of
the public which ever loved her, ringing in her ears.

Count Saxe caught sight of me in the crowd, and made a signal to me. I
forced my way to the coach, and got on the box with the driver. Then,
glancing back, I saw Monsieur Voltaire and the Earl of Peterborough
spring upon the footman's running board behind. The people gave one
single loud cry of approval, and then amid the tears and farewells of
thousands, Adrienne Lecouvreur was borne away for the last time from
the Theatre Francais, of which she had been the chiefest ornament.

When we reached her house, Monsieur Voltaire and Lord Peterborough
sprang down, opened the coach door and let down the steps. Mademoiselle
Lecouvreur laughed a little when she saw what manner of footmen she
had; she was then in perfect peace, and could smile and even laugh.
Monsieur Voltaire took her in his arms and carried her up the long
stairs to her apartment, Count Saxe following. Their jealousy was dead
and about to be buried in Adrienne's grave.

I went up the stairs and sat in the anteroom. Within Adrienne's
chamber there were my master, Monsieur Voltaire, Lord Peterborough,
Mademoiselle Lecouvre