"My child, my child!" Gramont whispered to himself, "child of her whom I loved better than my life--that we should meet at last, only to part forever!"
And from his own eyes the tears rolled down--from his! He stooped and bent over her; his face approached hers; his lips touched that white brow, over which the short-cut hair curled in such glorious dishevelment, while he murmured:
"Unclose those eyelids once, look for the last time on me." Then he half-turned his head away, as though to prevent his own tears from falling on and awakening her.
Was he a sorcerer, I wondered, even as I watched--a sorcerer, as well as other things unnamable? Had he the power over his own child to thus reach her mind and brain, even though both were sunk in a deep, feverish sleep? In truth, it appeared so.
For, even as he spoke, those eyelids did unclose, the dark, dreamy eyes gazed up into his, while, slowly, the full, white, rounded arms encircled his neck, and their lips met, and from him I heard the whispered words:
"Farewell, farewell, forever. Oh, my child, my child!"
Yet--and I thanked God for it then, as ever since I have thanked Him again and again!--he had turned away ere the answering whisper came from her lips, had not heard the words that fell from them--the words:
"Mervan, Mervan, my beloved!"
Thanked God he had not known how, in her sleep, she deemed those kisses mine, and dreamed of me alone.
* * * * * * * * *