"Father--poor father!" The countess could say no mare. Laying her head on the side of her father's bed, she wept bitterly.
"Hm, hm!" murmured the invalid, and a glance of intelligence suddenly flashed from his dull eyes at his daughter. "My child, are you weeping?" He reflected a short time, then his mind seemed to grow clear again.
"Oh, yes. No one must know! Foolish weaknesses! Tell him I sincerely ask his pardon; he must forgive me. Prejudiced, old--! I am very sorry. Can't you send for him?"
"Oh, papa, I would gladly bring him, but it is too late--he has gone away!"
"Ah! then I shall not see him again. I am near my end."
The countess could not speak, but pressed her lips to her father's cold hand.
"Don't grieve; you will lose nothing in me; be happy. I spent a great deal of money for you--women, gaming, dinners, what value are they all?" He made a gesture of loathing: "What are they now?"
A chill ran through his veins, and his breath grew short and labored. "I'm curious to see how it looks up there!" He pondered for a time. "If you knew of any sensible pastor, you might send for him; such men often do know something."
"Certainly, father!"
The countess hurried into the next room and ordered a priest to be sent for to give extreme unction.