Pierre heard the tidings with overwhelming grief. He had been permitted but once to see her for a few brief moments, which dwelt upon his mind forever. He deferred his departure to Europe in consequence of her illness, and knocked daily at the door of the Convent to ask after her and leave some kind message or flower, which was faithfully carried to her by the friendly nuns who received him at the wicket. A feeling of pity and sympathy for these two affianced and unfortunate lovers stole into the hearts of the coldest nuns, while the novices and the romantic convent girls were absolutely wild over the melancholy fate of Pierre and Amélie.
He long solicited in vain for another interview with Amélie, but until it was seen that she was approaching the end, it was not granted him. Mère Esther interceded strongly with the Lady Superior, who was jealous of the influence of Pierre with her young novice. At length Amélie's prayers overcame her scruples. He was told one day that Amélie was dying, and wished to see him for the last time in this world.
Amélie was carried in a chair to the bars to receive her sorrowing lover. Her pale face retained its statuesque beauty of outline, but so thin and wasted!
“Pierre will not know me;” whispered she to Héloise, “but I shall smile at the joy of meeting him, and then he will recognize me.”
Her flowing veil was thrown back from her face. She spoke little, but her dark eyes were fixed with devouring eagerness upon the door by which she knew Pierre would come in. Her aunt supported her head upon her shoulder, while Héloise knelt at her knee and fanned her with sisterly tenderness, whispering words of sisterly sympathy in her ear.
Pierre flew to the Convent at the hour appointed. He was at once admitted, with a caution from Mère Esther to be calm and not agitate the dying girl. The moment he entered the great parlor, Amélie sprang from her seat with a sudden cry of recognition, extending her poor thin hands through the bars towards him. Pierre seized them, kissing them passionately, but broke down utterly at the sight of her wasted face and the seal of death set thereon.
“Amélie, my darling Amélie!” exclaimed he; “I have prayed so long to see you, and they would not let me in.”
“It was partly my fault, Pierre,” said she fondly. “I feared to let you see me. I feared to learn that you hate, as you have cause to do, the whole house of Repentigny! And yet you do not curse me, dear Pierre?”
“My poor angel, you break my heart! I curse the house of Repentigny? I hate you? Amélie, you know me better.”
“But your good father, the noble and just Bourgeois! Oh, Pierre, what have we not done to you and yours!”