"Sign yourself----" she stopped, hesitating and perturbed.

"Are you feeling worse?" asked Louis.

"Put 'Louis-Gaston,'" she went on.

She sighed, then she went on.

"Seal the letter, and direct it. To Lord Brandon, Brandon Square, Hyde
Park, London, Angleterre.--That is right. When I am dead, post the
letter in Tours, and prepay the postage.--Now," she added, after a
pause, "take the little pocketbook that you know, and come here, my
dear child. . . . There are twelve thousand francs in it," she said,
when Louis had returned to her side. "That is all your own. Oh me! you
would have been better off if your father----"

"My father," cried the boy, "where is he?"

"He is dead," she said, laying her finger on her lips; "he died to
save my honor and my life."

She looked upwards. If any tears had been left to her, she would have
wept for pain.

"Louis," she continued, "swear to me, as I lie here, that you will
forget all that you have written, all that I have told you."

"Yes, mother."

"Kiss me, dear angel."