"And the marchioness?" asked Conrad, sadly.
The little French clock on the mantel struck the hour. "You hear," said the doctor. "She has not a half an hour to live."
Not half an hour to live! And Eugene knew it! For above the breaking waves, above the tumultuous beating of his bleeding heart, even above the tones of her dear voice, he heard the striking of that clock.
But one half hour!—He was on his knees, her little hand locked in his, and her eyes fixed upon his face, with a look of love such as no human tongue had power to speak. But he could not bear to see her so motionless; he feared that she was about to expire.
"Speak to me, my angel; say thou lovest me," sobbed he.
"I love thee!" said she, with a joyful smile. "Ah, Eugene, I have spoken these words so often that earth and air, sky and sea, will echo them forever."
"But thou—thou goest from me!"
"God has willed it thus. But, beloved, how beautiful to me is the death that giveth life to thee! Ah, my sovereign! lord of my heart! weep not for her who dies as woman loves to die!"
"Weep not for thee! Alas! shall I have courage to bear the burden of the life thou hast purchased with thine own?"
"Yes, God will give thee strength to fulfil thy heroic destiny, my Eugene. We have been very happy on earth, and in heaven He will perfect our imperfect union. Farewell, beloved, farewell!"