laid her head back upon the pillow, closed
her eyes, and remained motionless, keeping the secret of her sufferings
that she might not frighten her husband,--the tenderness of a mother,
the delicacy of an angel! All the woman was in her answer.

The silence lasted long. Jules, thinking her asleep, went to question
Josephine as to her mistress's condition.

"Madame came home half-dead, monsieur. We sent at once for Monsieur
Haudry."

"Did he come? What did he say?"

"He said nothing, monsieur. He did not seem satisfied; gave orders that
no one should go near madame except the nurse, and said he should come
back this evening."

Jules returned softly to his wife's room and sat down in a chair before
the bed. There he remained, motionless, with his eyes fixed on those
of Clemence. When she raised her eyelids she saw him, and through those
lids passed a tender glance, full of passionate love, free from reproach
and bitterness,--a look which fell like a flame of fire upon the heart
of that husband, nobly absolved and forever loved by the being whom he
had killed. The presentiment of death struck both their minds with equal
force. Their looks were blended in one anguish, as their hearts had long
been blended in one love, felt equally by both, and shared equally. No
questions were uttered; a horrible certainty was there,--in the wife
an absolute generosity; in the husband an awful remorse; then, in both
souls the same vision of the end, the same conviction of fatality.

There came a moment when, thinking his wife asleep, Jules kissed her
softly on the forehead; then after long contemplation of that cherished
face, he said:--

"Oh God! leave me this angel still a little while that I may blot out my
wrong by love and adoration. As a daughter, she is sublime; as a wife,
what word can express her?"

Clemence raised her eyes; they were full of tears.

"You pain me," she said, in a feeble voice.

It was getting late; Doctor Haudry came, and requested the husband to
withdraw during his visit. When the doctor left the sick-room Jules
asked him no question; one gesture was enough.

"Call in consultation any physician in whom you place confidence; I may
be wrong."

"Doctor, tell me the truth. I am a man, and I can bear it. Besides,
I have the deepest interest in knowing it; I have certain affairs to
settle."

"Madame Jules is dying," said the physician. "There is some moral malady
which has made great progress, and it has