carry my profound regret to the Countess Chantavoine?" he whispered.
"Say that it lies with her whether Heaven pardon me."

Grandjon-Larisse hesitated an instant, then answered:

"Those who are in heaven, monseigneur, know best what Heaven may do."

Philip's pale face took on a look of agony. "She is dead--she is dead!"
he gasped.

Grandjon-Larisse inclined his head, then after a moment, gravely said:

"What did you think was left for a woman--for a Chantavoine? It is not
the broken heart that kills, but broken pride, monseigneur."

So saying, he bowed again to Philip and turned upon his heel.




CHAPTER XLIV

Philip lay on a bed in the unostentatious lodging in the Rue de Vaugirard
where Damour had brought him. The surgeon had pronounced the wound
mortal, giving him but a few hours to live. For long after he was gone
Philip was silent, but at length he said "You heard what Grandjon-Larisse
said--It is broken pride that kills, Damour." Then he asked for pen,
ink, and paper. They were brought to him. He tried the pen upon the
paper, but faintness suddenly seized him, and he fell back unconscious.