and near what lake, the most deadly in the neighborhood, I said to her:
'What imprudence!' I shall all my life see the glance she gave me at the
moment, as she replied: 'Say, rather, how wise, and pray that I may have
taken the fever and that I die of it.' You know the rest, and how her
wish has been realized. She indeed contracted the fever, and so severely
that she died in less than six days. I have no doubt, since her last
words, that it was a suicide."

"And the mother," asked Montfanon, "did she not comprehend finally?"

"Absolutely nothing," replied Dorsenne. "It is inconceivable, but it is
thus. Ah! she is truly the worthy friend of that knave Hafner, whom his
daughter's broken engagement has not grieved, in spite of his
discomfiture. I forgot to tell you that he had just sold Palais Castagna
to a joint-stock company to convert it into a hotel. I laugh," he
continued with singular acrimony, "in order not to weep, for I am
arriving at the most heartrending part. Do you know where I saw poor
Alba Steno's face for the last time? It was three days ago, the day
after her death, at this hour. I called to inquire for the Countess!
She was receiving! 'Do you wish to bid her adieu?' she asked me. 'Good
Lincoln is just molding her face for me.' And I entered the chamber of
death. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks were sunken, her pretty nose was
pinched, and upon her brow and in the corners of her mouth was a mixture
of bitterness and of repose which I can not describe to you. I thought:
'If you had liked, she would be alive, she would smile, she would love
you!' The American was beside the bed, while Florent Chapron, always
faithful, was preparing the oil to put upon the face of the corpse, and
sinister Lydia Maitland was watching the scene with eyes which made me
shudder, reminding me of what I had divined at the time of my last
conversation with Alba. If she does not undertake to play the part of a