Her arms dropped suddenly—her black eyes closed—and she fell sidewise into my arms; and even in the very moment of placing her upon her pillow I cast one glance through the uncovered window and saw but the sullen sky bending low over the still more sullen lake.
She never opened her eyes again, and as she lay there so still, so white, I could not but notice how gentle her face had grown, and bending down for the first and last time, I kissed her tenderly. A slow smile came about her lips, and she spoke for the last time, when she said softly, happily: “The sign! It is the sign!”
A moment later there was a long sigh, broken by a shiver, and then stillness, perfect stillness, and I whispered: “They have all gone on together!”
“In Paris Suddenly——”
“In Paris Suddenly——”
I saw it in the Herald this morning: “In Paris suddenly, Madame de B——.” Nothing remarkable about that announcement. Nothing to affect the general reader, but to me the letters were luminous.
“In Paris suddenly, Madame Miriam de B——.” The creep is in my blood yet, for you see, I met Madame Miriam de B—— once, and if I were to live in this world even unto a hundred years, I should not forget that brief meeting.