“Enough, enough!” cried the count; and overcome by the effort he had made to deliver his last injunction, he fell back insensible on his pillow.
Nisida, who had retained her face buried in her hands during the whole time occupied in the above conversation, happened to look up at that moment; and, perceiving the condition of her father, she made a hasty sign to Francisco to summon the physician and the priest from the room to which they had retired.
This commission was speedily executed, and in a few minutes the physician and the priest were once more by the side of the dying noble.
But the instant that Dr. Duras—who was a venerable looking man of about sixty years of age—approached the bed, he darted, unseen by Francisco, a glance of earnest inquiry toward Nisida, who responded by one of profound meaning, shaking her head gently, but in a manner expressive of deep melancholy, at the same time.
The physician appeared to be astonished at the negative thus conveyed by the beautiful mute; and he even manifested a sign of angry impatience.
But Nisida threw upon him a look of so imploring a nature, that his temporary vexation yielded to a feeling of immense commiseration for that afflicted creature: and he gave her to understand, by another rapid glance, that her prayer was accorded.
This interchange of signs of such deep mystery scarcely occupied a moment, and was altogether unobserved by Francisco.
Dr. Duras proceeded to administer restoratives to the dying nobleman—but in vain!
The count had fallen into a lethargic stupor, which lasted until four in the morning, when his spirit passed gently away.
The moment Francisco and Nisida became aware that they were orphans, they threw themselves into each other’s arms, and renewed by that tender embrace the tacit compact of sincere affection which had ever existed between them.