I thought for some minutes before answering. The story, as related by the servant, I fully credited.
“Let me see the body again,” said I, coming at length to a conclusion.
We went up stairs, all three together; but only two of us entered the chamber of death. As we neared the door, Blanche caught at her mother's arm, and I heard her say, in a whisper:
“Dear mamma! spare me that sight again. It is too horrible!”
“The presence of your daughter is not needed,” said I, interposing. “Let her retire to her own room.”
“Thank you!” There was a grateful expression in her voice, as she uttered these brief words, and then went back, while we passed in to the apartment where the dead woman was still lying.
As I looked upon her face again, it seemed even more ghastly than before; and I could hardly repress a shudder. My companion held a lamp; while I made as careful an examination as was possible under the circumstances. I did not expect to find any marks of violence, though I searched for them about her head, neck, and chest. But, under the circumstances, I felt it to be my duty to know, from actual search, that no such signs existed. In every aspect presented by the corpse, there was a corroboration of the story related by the serving man. It was plain, that in a fit of half insane, uncontrollable passion, the nice adjustment of physical forces had been lost.
“I am fully satisfied, madam,” said I, at length, turning from my unpleasant task.
She let her calm, earnest eyes dwell on mine for a few moments, and then answered, with a softened tone, in which there was just a perceptible thrill of feeling—
“If I were a believer in omens, I should take this sad incident, following so quickly on our removal to a new country and a new home, as foreshadowing evil to me or mine. But I do not so read external events.”