“Lord Penshurst,” he said, very quietly, “Melun is dead.”
The Premier glanced at him quickly and then turned to his daughter.
“Thank heaven!” he cried.
“Hush,” said Kathleen, gently, and taking her father by the arm she pointed to Mme. Estelle.
Mendip had done what he could, and the unhappy woman had, to some extent, come back to consciousness.
She was indeed sufficiently alive to catch Westerham's words. She brought her fast fading eyes down from the ceiling and searched Westerham's face.
“Melun!” she muttered to herself: “Melun!”
Westerham drew near and knelt down by the couch. He took one of her hands, which was even then growing cold.
“Melun?” she asked again in a voice scarcely above a whisper.
Westerham put his mouth down to her ear and said slowly, “He is dead.”