some excuse for the past. I, for my part, find a continual solace
in it. I should like to leave you something which would always
remind you of me, but everything here has been seized, and I have
nothing of my own.

"Do you understand, my friend? I am dying, and from my bed I can
hear a man walking to and fro in the drawing-room; my creditors
have put him there to see that nothing is taken away, and that
nothing remains to me in case I do not die. I hope they will wait
till the end before they begin to sell.

"Oh, men have no pity! or rather, I am wrong, it is God who is
just and inflexible!

"And now, dear love, you will come to my sale, and you will buy
something, for if I put aside the least thing for you, they might
accuse you of embezzling seized goods.

"It is a sad life that I am leaving!

"It would be good of God to let me see you again before I die.
According to all probability, good-bye, my friend. Pardon me if I
do not write a longer letter, but those who say they are going to
cure me wear me out with bloodletting, and my hand refuses to
write any more.

"MARGUERITE GAUTIER."

The last two words were scarcely legible. I returned the letter
to Armand, who had, no doubt, read it over again in his mind