"You are an angel!" exclaimed the cousin, kissing her hand.
"No, kiss me here. They only kiss the hands of those who are dead. My God! my God!"
That same evening the sick woman was a corpse, and the corpse in the coffin lay in the parlor of the great mansion. In the immense room, the doors of which were closed, sat the clerk,[94] and with a monotonous voice read the Psalms of David through his nose.
The bright glare from the wax candles in the lofty silver candelabra fell on the white brow of the dead, on the heavy waxen hands, on the stiff folds of the cerement which brought out into awful relief the knees and the feet.
The clerk, not varying his tones, continued to read on steadily, and in the silence of the chamber of death his words rang out and died away. Occasionally from distant rooms came the voice of children and their romping.
"Thou hidest thy face, they are troubled; thou takest away their breath, they die and return to their dust.
"Thou sendest forth thy Spirit, they are created; and thou renewest the face of the earth.
"The glory of the Lord shall endure forever: the Lord shall rejoice in his works."
The face of the dead was stern and majestic. But there was no motion either on the pure cold brow, or the firmly closed lips. She was all attention. But did she perhaps now understand these grand words?