"Something serious--aha! Then let him in." Camors rose and paced the
chamber, a smile of bitter mockery wreathing his lips. "And must I now
kill him?" he muttered between his teeth.

Lescande entered, and his first act dissipated the apprehension his
conduct had caused. He rushed to the young Count and seized him by both
hands, while Camors remarked that his face was troubled and his lips
trembled. "Sit down and be calm," he said.

"My friend," said the other, after a pause, "I come late to see you, for
which I crave pardon; but--I am myself so miserable! See, I am in
mourning!"

Camors felt a chill run to his very marrow. "In mourning! and why?" he
asked, mechanically.

"Juliette is dead!" sobbed Lescande, and covered his eyes with his great
hands.

"Great God!" cried Camors in a hollow voice. He listened a moment to
Lescande's bitter sobs, then made a movement to take his hand, but dared
not do it. "Great God! is it possible?" he repeated.

"It was so sudden!" sobbed Lescande, brokenly. "It seems like a dream--
a frightful dream! You know the last time you visited us she was not
well. You remember I told you she had wept all day. Poor child! The
morning of my return she was seized with congestion--of the lungs--of the
brain--I don't know!--but she is dead! And so good!--so gentle, so
loving! to the last moment! Oh, my friend! my friend! A few moments