"I have left explicit instructions," he resumed after a moment. "I have made all my wishes known in my will. Promise me that you will heed them all, that every one shall be carried out as I have directed," he concluded with impressive earnestness.
"I know you would not ask anything impossible of me, dear friend, so I cheerfully promise," Mollie unhesitatingly responded.
"Swear it, mademoiselle," said Monsieur Lamonti, glancing at the prayerbook which lay beside his pillow.
Mollie's lips trembled; the scene was becoming very trying to her.
"I will swear if monsieur wishes; but my word would be just as sacred to me as an oath," she said gently.
The man smiled up at her.
"That is enough—I am satisfied," he said, "and Mr. Ashley here already knows that I trust you implicitly, as I would my own daughter had she lived. Now, my child, let me add that you have been a great comfort to me; do not forget in the days to come that you made the last few months of a lonely, almost heart-broken man, much the brighter by your sweet presence, and the highest tribute I can show you is to trust you with my one earthly treasure—my Lucille. Now, I will not keep you, mademoiselle, adieu, and may the good God forever bless you and yours."
Mollie arose. She felt that she could scarcely have borne another word; her throat was almost convulsed, her eyes heavy with unshed tears, and yet she must not weep before him.
She could not speak, but she bent down and left a light caress upon the man's forehead, then swiftly but noiselessly passed from the room.
At the door she turned for one last look at her friend, to find his eyes fastened upon her, and in them a light of peace and gladness that she had never seen in them before. The memory of it never left her. That night Monsieur Lamonti passed away, and all Washington was grieved and shocked to read of it the following day.