Fleurange took the dying man's hand, and bent over him to catch his words. Her features thus became distinctly visible in the light, and his eyes fastened with frightful tenacity on those of the young girl.
“It is impossible!” said he. “But what illusion is this which makes me see and hear what cannot be?”
“Felix,” said Fleurange, with a penetrating accent of sweetness, “it is not an illusion. We are here. God has sent us that you may not die alone without a friend to pray for you, without begging and obtaining pardon and peace.”
A ray of perfect clearness of comprehension now lit up his eyes, hitherto fixed or wandering. He seemed to comprehend, but did not reply. Clement and Fleurange were afraid to break the solemn silence. Felix's eyes soon wandered from one to the other, and, taking the young girl's hand and that of Clement, he pressed them together upon his heart, saying: “O my God! what a miracle!” Then he added in a feeble voice: “What a comfort that it is he, and not the other!”
They both understood his mistake, but were not equally affected. Fleurange slightly blushed, and withdrew her hand with a faint smile, but Clement's face became almost as pale as that of the dying man. But graver thoughts prevailed over both at such a time. After a short silence, Fleurange again addressed Felix some words, but he made no reply, and his head, which she tried to raise, fell on his shoulder. He continued faint for some moments, then opened his eyes, and saw her beside him.
“God be praised!” said he. “The vision is still here!”
“Yes, I am here, Felix,” said Fleurange in a fervent tone: “I am here to pray with you. Listen to me,” continued she, speaking softly and very distinctly. “Say with me that you repent of all the sins of your life.”
“Of all the sins of my life!”—repeated the dying man.
“And if your strength were restored, you would make a complete and satisfactory avowal of them, with a sincere repentance. Do you understand me?”
The hand she held pressed hers. A tear ran down Felix's cheek. A voice which was a mere whisper repeated the words: “A sincere repentance”—another faintness seemed to announce his end. “O my God!” said Fleurange, fervently raising her eyes to heaven, “if the sacred absolving words could only be pronounced over him!”