“No,” replied the marchioness, “I will wait.”
“Let me die in peace,” exclaimed Achard tearing the crucifix from the head of his bed, and raising it between, himself and the marchioness, he cried: “leave me! leave me; in the name of Jesus Christ!”
The marchioness fell upon her knees, bowing her head to the ground. The old man, for a moment, remained in the same awful attitude; then, by degrees, his strength forsook him, and he fell back on his bed, crossed his arms, and pressed the image of the Saviour to his breast.
The marchioness seized the lower part of the two curtains, and without raising her head, she crossed them in such a manner as to conceal the last struggles of the dying man.
“Horror! horror!” murmured Marguerite.
“Let us kneel, and pray,” said Paul.
A moment of solemn and dreadful silence then ensued, which was only interrupted by the last gasps of the dying man; these gasps became fainter by degrees, and then ceased altogether. All was over; the old man was dead.
The marchioness slowly raised her head, listened with intense anxiety for some minutes, and then, without opening the curtains, passed her hand between them, and after some effort, withdrew her hand again—she had obtained the key. She then silently arose, and with her face still turned toward the bed, walked to the closet. But at the moment she was about to unlock it, Paul, who was observing all her movements, rushed into the room, and seizing her by the arm, said—?
“Give me that key, my mother! for the marquis is dead, and those papers now belong to me.”
“Justice of heaven!” exclaimed the marchioness, starting back with terror, and falling into a chair, “justice of heaven! it is my son!”