"It would be frightful to let us leave with this horrible picture in
our memory," said Madame de Montcornet. "I shall dream of it----"

"And what was the punishment of Monsieur de Marsay's 'First'?" said
Lord Dudley, smiling.

"When the English are in jest, their foils have the buttons on," said
Blondet.

"Monsieur Bianchon can tell us, for he saw her dying," replied de
Marsay, turning to me.

"Yes," said I; "and her end was one of the most beautiful I ever saw.
The Duke and I had spent the night by the dying woman's pillow;
pulmonary consumption, in the last stage, left no hope; she had taken
the sacrament the day before. The Duke had fallen asleep. The Duchess,
waking at about four in the morning, signed to me in the most touching
way, with a friendly smile, to bid me leave him to rest, and she
meanwhile was about to die. She had become incredibly thin, but her
face had preserved its really sublime outline and features. Her pallor
made her skin look like porcelain with a light within. Her bright eyes
and color contrasted with this languidly elegant complexion, and her
countenance was full of expressive calm. She seemed to pity the Duke,
and the feeling had its origin in a lofty tenderness which, as death
approached, seemed to know no bounds. The silence was absolute. The
room, softly lighted by a lamp, looked like every sickroom at the hour
of death.

"At this moment the clock struck. The Duke awoke, and was in despair