"Charlie, if I must meet the worst I hope you will tell me so; I am fully prepared. Ah! excuse--I thought it was--
"My eyes seem dim this evening. Est-ce-vous, Honoré? Ah, Honoré, you went over to the enemy, did you?--Well,--the Fusilier blood would al--ways--do as it pleased. Here's your old uncle's hand, Honoré. I forgive you, Honoré--my noble-hearted, foolish--boy." He spoke feebly, and with great nervousness.
"Water."
It was given him by Aurora. He looked in her face; they could not be sure whether he recognized her or not. He sank back, closed his eyes, and said, more softly and dreamily, as if to himself, "I forgive everybody. A man must die--I forgive--even the enemies--of Louisiana."
He lay still a few moments, and then revived excitedly. "Honoré! tell Professor Frowenfeld to take care of that Philippique Générale. 'Tis a grand thing, Honoré, on a grand theme! I wrote it myself in one evening. Your Yankee Government is a failure, Honoré, a drivelling failure. It may live a year or two, not longer. Truth will triumph. The old Louisiana will rise again. She will get back her trampled rights. When she does, remem'--" His voice failed, but he held up one finger firmly by way of accentuation.
There was a stir among the kindred. Surely this was a turn for the better. The doctor ought to be brought back. A little while ago he was not nearly so strong. "Ask Honoré if the doctor should not come." But Honoré shook his head. The old man began again.
"Honoré! Where is Honoré? Stand by me, here, Honoré; and sister?--on this other side. My eyes are very poor to-day. Why do I perspire so? Give me a drink. You see--I am better now; I have ceased--to throw up blood. Nay, let me talk." He sighed, closed his eyes, and opened them again suddenly. "Oh, Honoré, you and the Yankees--you and--all--going wrong--education--masses--weaken--caste--indiscr'--quarrels settl'--by affidav'--Oh! Honoré."
"If he would only forget," said one, in an agonized whisper, "that philippique générale!"
Aurora whispered earnestly and tearfully to Madame Grandissime. Surely they were not going to let him go thus! A priest could at least do no harm. But when the proposition was made to him by his sister, he said:
"No;--no priest. You have my will, Honoré,--in your iron box. Professor Frowenfeld,"--he changed his speech to English,--"I have written you an article on--" his words died on his lips.