She shook her head feebly. "He will know."
"What else, Adeline?"
"Tell him my heart will be faithful to him in death, as it ever was in life. Nothing more."
"Why did you not write to him--" asked Mary Carr, "a last letter?"
"He might not have cared to receive it. There is another now."
The close of the afternoon came on. The nurse was sitting in her chair on one side the fireplace; Louise silently seesawed herself backwards and forwards upon another; Mary Carr was standing, in a listless attitude, before the fire, her elbow lodging on the mantelpiece; and Rose Darling sat on a low stool, half asleep, her head resting against Adeline's bed. They were all fatigued. In the next room were heard murmurings of conversation: M. de Castella talking with one of the medical men. Adeline, just then, was quiet, and appeared to be dozing.
"I say, la garde," began Louise, in a low whisper, "is it true that mademoiselle asked old H---- this morning how many hours she should live?"
The nurse nodded.
"Chère enfant!" apostrophized Louise, through her tears. "And what did he say?"
"What should he say?" retorted the nurse. "He does not know any more than we do."