"Cruel to myself, Joseph, for I have just begun to value life. But I swore to my mother that I would not outlive the disgrace of Poland; and you would have ceased to love me had I violated my oath. Forgive the pain I inflict upon you, dearest. I longed for one single hour of happiness, and I have found it here. With my dying breath I bless you."
"Is there no remedy?" asked he, scarcely able to speak.
"None," said she, with a fluttering smile. "I obtained the poison from
Cagliostro. Nay—dear one, do not weep: you see that I could not live.
Oh, do not hide your face from me; let me die with my eyes fixed upon
yours!"
"And," cried Joseph, "must I live forever?"
"You must live for your subjects—live to be great and good, yet ever mistrusted, ever misunderstood. But onward, my prince, and the blessing of God be upon you! Think, too, that the Poles, my brethren, are among your subjects, and promise me to love and cherish them?"
"I promise."
"Try to reconcile them to their fate—do not return their ill-will; swear to me that you will be clement to my countrymen?"
"I swear! I swear to respect their misfortunes, and to make them happy!"
One last, beaming illuminated her face. "Thank you—dearest," said she, with difficulty. "My spirit shall look out from the eye of every Pole, to whom you will have given—one moment—of joy! Oh, what agony! Farewell!"
One more look—one shudder—and all was still.