Hesitating for a moment or two, he then drew a deep breath, and crossed softly to where the bag lay open with some of the glittering jewels still hanging to its edge: great strings of pearls, and a necklet of diamonds.
These he hurriedly thrust back, and then went quickly and silently about, picking up rings, bracelets, brooches, and tiaras of emerald, ruby, diamond, and sapphire, till, with a sigh of satisfaction, he closed the morocco bag, the fastening giving forth a loud snap.
“Is—is she dead?” he whispered; and his lips were so close to Cornel’s ear that she started round, and let fall the wrist upon whose pulse her fingers were pressed.
“No,” she whispered. “I have staunched the wound till you can get proper help, but I fear internal bleeding.”
At that moment there was a piteous sigh followed by a low moan, and the beautiful dark eyes opened, to gaze vacantly for a few moments. Then intelligence came into them, as they rested upon Cornel, who was now bending over her.
“Ah,” she said softly, as her hand felt for Cornel’s, which was laid upon her brow; “you? Good for evil;” and she drew Cornel’s hand to her lips and kissed it. “Forgive me,” she whispered, “before I die. I loved him so.”
A curiously harsh low cry escaped from the Conte, who literally writhed in his jealous agony, and Valentina turned her eyes upon him where he stood dimly seen, as if looking at her from out of a mist.
“You there!” she said bitterly, as Cornel once more grasped her wrist. “Well, are you satisfied? You have killed my body, as you killed my love, when, as a young innocent girl, I was sold to you for your wealth and title, and Heaven knows I would have tried to be your true loving wife.”
“Oh, Valentina! my beautiful—my own!” he groaned; and he stooped to take her hand.
“Pah! don’t touch me!” she cried hoarsely; and she raised the hand she had snatched away, and pointed to the bag he held. “Take them to your mistresses whose smiles you have always bought. Let me die in peace.”