And then the twins, by a last instinctive impulse, endeavored to clasp
each other, and their eyes half-opened to exchange yet another glance.
They shuddered twice or thrice, their limbs stiffened, a deep sigh
struggled from their violet-colored lips. Rose and Blanche were both
dead! Gabriel and Sister Martha, after closing the eyes of the orphans,
knelt down to pray by the side of that funeral couch. Suddenly a great
tumult was heard in the room. Rapid footsteps, mingled with imprecations,
sounded close at hand, the curtain was drawn aside from this mournful
scene, and Dagobert entered precipitately, pale, haggard, his dress in
disorder. At sight of Gabriel and the Sister of Charity kneeling beside
the corpses of his children, the soldier uttered a terrible roar, and
tried to advance--but in vain--for, before Gabriel could reach him,
Dagobert fell flat on the ground, and his gray head struck violently on
the floor.

It is night--a dark and stormy night. One o'clock in the morning has just
sounded from the church of Montmartre. It is to the cemetery of
Montmartre that is carried the coffin which, according to the last wishes
of Rose and Blanche contains them both. Through the thick shadow, which
rests upon that field of death, may be seen moving a pale light. It is
the gravedigger. He advances with caution; a dark lantern is in his hand.
A man wrapped in a cloak accompanies him. He holds down his head and
weeps. It is Samuel. The old Jew--the keeper of the house in the Rue
Saint-Francois. On the night of the funeral of Jacques Rennepont, the
first who died of the seven heirs, and who was buried in another
cemetery, Samuel had a similar mysterious interview with the gravedigger,
to obtain a favor at the price of gold. A strange and awful favor! After
passing down several paths, bordered with cypress trees, by the side of
many tombs, the Jew and the gravedigger arrived, at a little glade,