"Where is she?"
"Oh, mon Dieu! oh, holy Mother of Jesus, comfort him!" cried the good nun, piously. She advanced and touched him compassionately. "God help you, my poor son. She—she—has not awakened—yet."
He turned his pale, frightened face toward her.
"She sleeps?" he questioned, eagerly; and with a holy compassion in her trembling voice, she replied:
"Yes, my son, she sleeps—in Jesus."
"Dead?" he almost shrieked, and she answered, solemnly:
"Yes."
She thought he was about to faint, his face grew so pale and his form reeled so unsteadily; but he threw out one hand and caught the back of a chair to sustain himself, while a hollow groan came from his lips:
"Too late!"