That kiss resounded in the throat of a corpse.
One cold, tremulous tear coursed down the dead woman’s cheek.
Tito wiped away his own, and turned to answer Monteclaro. “Yes, Duke, it is I.”
As the Archbishop read the funeral prayers, Death disappeared. It was midnight.
CHAPTER X.
UNTIL TO-MORROW.
“Search for those papers, Duke,” said Tito to Monteclaro, “and do me the kindness to speak to Elena.”
“Come! Doctor, come! The king is dying!” exclaimed Don Miguel de Guerra, interrupting him.
“Follow me, Duke,” said the youth, with great respect, “it has struck twelve, and I can give you some very important news, I do not know whether good or bad. It is this; I can tell you whether or not Louis I. will die to-day.”