Octavius was waiting for him in the lower hall.
"Did you see her?" he asked eagerly.
"Yes; but to no purpose; her life has been lived, Mr. Buzzby; nothing can affect it now."
"You don't mean she's gone?" Octavius started at the sound of his own voice; it seemed to echo through the house.
"No; but it is, I believe, only a question of an hour at most."
"I'd better drive up then for Aileen; she ought to know—ought to be here."
"Believe me, it would be useless, Mr. Buzzby. Those two belong to life, not to death—leave them alone together; and leave her there above, to her Maker and the infinite mercy of His Son."
"Amen," said Octavius Buzzby solemnly; but his thought was with those whom he had seen leave Champ-au-Haut through the same outward-opening portal that was now set wide for its mistress: the old Judge, and his son, Louis—the last Champney.
He accompanied Father Honoré to the door.
"No farther, Mr. Buzzby," he said, when Octavius insisted on driving him home. "Your place is here. I shall take the tram as usual at The Bow."