id
anything to wound you, believe me it was for your own sake and not for
mine."

She thanked him with a tearful look.

"I feel your position cruelly," he went on. "The world has been bitter
hard on you. Your uncle is a disgrace to mankind. Believe me, madam,
there is no young gentleman in all France but would be glad of my
opportunity, to die in doing you a momentary service."

"I know already that you can be very brave and generous," she answered.
"What I _want_ to know is whether I can serve you--now or afterwards,"
she added, with a quaver.

"Most certainly," he answered, with a smile. "Let me sit beside you as
if I were a friend, instead of a foolish intruder; try to forget how
awkwardly we are placed to one another; make my last moments go
pleasantly; and you will do me the chief service possible."

"You are very gallant," she added, with a yet deeper sadness; "very
gallant----and it somehow pains me. But draw nearer, if you please; and
if you find anything to say to me, you will at least make certain of a
very friendly listener. Ah! Monsieur de Beaulieu," she broke forth--"ah!
Monsieur de Beaulieu, how can I look you in the face?" And she fell to
weeping again with a renewed effusion.

"Madam," said Denis, taking her hand in both of his, "reflect on the
little time I have before me, and the great bitterness into which I am
cast by the sight of your distress. Spare me, in my last moments, the
spectacle of what I cannot cure even with the sacrifice of my life."

"I am very selfish," answered Blanche. "I will be braver, Monsieur de
Beaulieu, for your sake. But think if I can do you no kindness in the
future--if you have no friends to whom I could carry your adieux. Charge
me as heavily as you can: every burden will lighten, by so little, the
invaluable gratitude I owe you. Put it in my power to do something more
for you than weep."

"My mother is married again, and has a young family to care for. My
brother Guichard will inherit my fiefs: and if I am not in error, that
will content him amply for my death. Life is a little vapour that
passeth away, as we are told by those in holy orders. When a man is in a
fair way and sees all life open in front of him, he seems to himself to
make a very important figure in the world. His horse whinnies to him;
the trumpets blow and the girls look out of window as he rides into town
before his company; he receives many assurances of trust and
regard--sometimes by express i