s convent are accustomed to hold their meetings. Thou wilt find her
there, venerable father; but hasten, for God calls her, and this night
a shroud will cover that face which God made both to shame and to edify
this world."

Paphnutius followed her into a courtyard flooded with the morning light.
On the edge of the brick roofs, the pigeons formed a string of pearls.
On a bed, in the shade of the fig tree, Thais lay quite white, her arms
crossed. By her side stood veiled women, reciting the prayers for the
dying.

_"Have mercy, upon me, O God, according to Thy loving kindness:
according unto the multitude of Thy tender mercies blot out my
transgressions."_

He called her--

"Thais!"

She raised her eyelids, and turned the whites of her eyes in the
direction of the voice.

Albina made a sign to the veiled women to retire a few paces.

"Thais!" repeated the monk.

She raised her head; a light breath came from her pale lips.

"Is it thou, my father? . . . Dost thou remember the water of the
spring, and the dates that we picked? . . . That day, my father, love
was born in my heart--the love of life eternal."

She was silent, and her head fell back.

Death was upon her, and the sweat of the last agony bedewed her
forehead. A pigeon broke the still silence with its plaintive cooing.
Then the sobs of the monk mingled with the psalms of the virgins.

_"Wash me thoroughly from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin. For
I acknowledge my transgressions: and my sin is ever before me."_

Suddenly Thais sat up in the bed. Her violet eyes opened wide, and with
a rapt gaze, her arms stretched towards the distant hills, she said in a
clear, fresh voice--

"Behold them--the roses of the eternal dawn!"

Her eyes shone; a slight flush suffused her face. She had revived, more
sweet and more beautiful than ever. Paphnutius knelt down, and threw his
long black arms around her.

"Do not die!" he cried, in a strange voice, which he himself did not
recognise. "I love thee! Do not die! Listen, my Thais. I have deceived
thee? I was but a wretched fool. God, heaven--all that is nothing. There
is nothing true but this worldly life, and the love of human beings. I
love thee! Do not die! That would be impossible--thou art too precious!
Come, come with me! Let us fly? I will carry thee far away in my arms.
Come, let us love! Hear me, O my beloved, and say, 'I will live; I wish
to live.' Thais, Thais, arise!"

She did not hear