ow, and of the
Italian style of architecture.

A servant opened the door and cried: "Oh, sir, Madame is awaiting you
patiently."

Duroy asked: "How is your master?"

"Not very well, sir. He will not be here long."

The floor of the drawing-room which the young man entered was covered
with a Persian rug; the large windows looked upon the village and the
sea.

Duroy murmured: "How cozy it is here! Where the deuce do they get the
money from?"

The rustling of a gown caused him to turn. Mme. Forestier extended both
her hands, saying:

"How kind of you to come."

She was a trifle paler and thinner, but still as bright as ever, and
perhaps prettier for being more delicate. She whispered: "It is
terrible--he knows he cannot be saved and he tyrannizes over me. I have
told him of your arrival. But where is your trunk?"

Duroy replied: "I left it at the station, not knowing which hotel you
would advise me to stop at, in order to be near you."

She hesitated, then said: "You must stop here, at the villa. Your
chamber is ready. He might die any moment, and if it should come in the
night, I would be alone. I will send for your luggage."

He bowed. "As you will."

"Now, let us go upstairs," said she; he followed her. She opened a door
on the first floor, and Duroy saw a form near a window, seated in an
easy-chair, and wrapped in coverlets. He divined that it was his
friend, though he scarcely recognized him. Forestier raised his hand
slowly and with difficulty, saying:

"You are here; you have come to see me die. I am much obliged."

Duroy forced a smile. "To see you die? That would not be a very
pleasant sight, and I would not choose that occasion on which to visit
Cannes. I came here to rest."

"Sit down," said Forestier, and he bowed his head as if deep in
hopeless meditation. Seeing that he did not speak, his wife approached
the window and pointing to the horizon, said, "Look at that? Is it not
beautiful?"

In spite of himself Duroy felt the grandeur of the closing day and
exclaimed: "Yes, indeed, it is magnificent."

Forestier raised his head and said to his wife: "Give me more air."

She replied: "You must be careful; it is late, the sun is setting; you
will catch more cold and that would be a serious thing in your
condition."

He made a feeble gesture of anger with his right hand, and said: "I
tell you I am suffocating! What difference does it make if I die a day
sooner or later, since I must die?"