'Where is my father?' asked Georgina in an almost inaudible tone, sinking down upon a stool.
'In the next room,' answered Rank. 'Conradi is with him.'
'What are you reading there, general?' asked Arwed without interest, merely to break the painful silence.
'The epitaph of our friend,' answered Rank, handing the paper to him. 'He sketched it himself.'
Georgina had sprung from her seat, and hanging upon Arwed's arm, looked with him upon the manuscript.
'Read aloud,' said she. 'Something like a dense cloud waves before my eyes. I cannot see the letters.'
'Will it not prove too great a trial for you?' asked Arwed with tender care.
'I am here,' she answered, 'to take a last leave of my father, before his death by the sword of the executioner. What else can shake me?'
Struggling to suppress his tears, Arwed proceeded to read:
'A la veille de conclure un grand traite de paix, mon héros périt, la royauté avec lui. Dieu veuille qu'il n'arrive pis! Je meurs aussi. C'est toujours mourir en magnifique compagnie, quand on meurt avec son roi et la royauté.'