“At eleven o’clock I presented myself at the little gate of the park. I was conducted into the chamber of Emilie.
“She was in bed, pale, almost dying.
“She, formerly so beautiful, seemed the ghost of herself. The hand of God had already touched her.
“I seated myself at her bedside. She extended to me her trembling, icy hand.
“I pressed it to my lips, my cold lips.
“We gave a last painful look at the past I accused myself of having destroyed her.
“We spoke of our unfortunate child. We wept, oh, how bitterly! when suddenly—
“Ah! I feel still the cold sweat deluge my brow. My hair stands on end, and a terrible voice cries to me, ‘Murderer! Murderer!’
“Oh, I will not seek to fly from remorse; till my last day I shall keep before me the image of my victim.
“By the judgment of God, which has already condemned me, I take oath to do it.