"Madame," he said, "Monsieur le Comte asks for you," and burst into tears.
"Mon Dieu! what is the matter?"
"Come, Madame—you must hasten!"
She accompanied him immediately. From the moment she put her foot in the chamber, she could not deceive herself—Death was there. Crushed by sorrow, this existence, so full, so proud, so powerful, was about to terminate. The head of Camors, turned on the pillow, seemed already to have assumed a death-like immobility. His beautiful features, sharpened by suffering, took the rigid outline of sculpture; his eye alone yet lived and looked at her.
She approached him hastily and wished to seize the hand resting on the sheet.
He withdrew it. She gave a despairing groan. He continued to look fixedly at her. She thought he was trying to speak, but could not; but his eyes spoke. They addressed to her some request, at the same time with an imperious though supplicating expression, which she doubtless understood; for she said aloud, with an accent full of sadness and tenderness:
"I promise it to you."
He appeared to make a painful effort, and his look indicated a large sealed letter lying on the bed. She took it, and read on the envelope- "To my son."
"I promise you," she said, again, falling on her knees, and moistening the sheet with her tears.
He extended his hand toward her. "Thanks!" was all he said. Her tears flowed faster. She set her lips on this hand already cold. When she raised her head, she saw at the same instant the eyes of Camors slightly moist, rolling wildly—then extinguished! She uttered a cry, threw herself on the bed, and kissed madly those eyes still open—yet void of light forever!