“Will you—forgive me? You must.”
“Rubbish!”
“And are you not afraid to go into that other world with a fellow creature crying after you from this for forgiveness?”
“Not a bit. I never knew what fear was. Pain, instead of making me fear death, has rendered me totally indifferent to it. I am astonished at myself now, that I feel so little apprehension.”
Madame de Fonblanque got up from her knees. Living or dying, he was unlike other men.
“Now,” said he, “I want you to make me a promise. Dying people’s requests are sacred, you know. Perhaps if you oblige me in this instance, I may oblige you later on. Will you promise?”
“Yes,” answered Madame de Fonblanque, unable to say no.
“I desire that you remain alone with me until I am dead. It is coming now. I feel it.”
Madame de Fonblanque remained silent with horror. A frightful paroxysm of pain came on, and after standing the sight of him writhing for a few moments, she fled shrieking from the room.
An instant later she returned with Chessingham. Mr. Romaine had then recovered from his spasm of pain, and greeted her sarcastically.