full of love for you. He is a great man working at a great task. Fill my
place. Do not cause him grief by reproaches; never judge him; be,
between him and those in your charge, a gentle mediator."

One of the servants had to go and bang on the laboratory door for Claes.
"Madame is dying!" cried the indignant old body. "They are waiting for
you to administer the last sacrament."

"I'll be there in a minute," answered Claes. When he entered the room,
the Abbé de Solis and the children were kneeling round the mother's bed.
His wife's face flushed at his entrance. With a loving smile, she asked:
"Were you on the point of resolving nitrogen?"

"I have done it!" he answered, with triumph; "nitrogen is made up of
oxygen and------" He stopped, checked by a murmur, which roused him from
his dream. "What did they say?" he asked. "Are you really worse? What
has happened?"

"This has happened," said the Abbé; "your wife is dying, and you have
killed her."

Priest and children withdrew.

"What does he mean?" asked Claes.

"Dearest," she answered, "your love was my life; I could not live
without it."

He took her hand, and kissed it.