at length made such advances, as neither the honor nor the
inclinations of the count permitted him to notice. He conducted
himself toward her with frigid indifference, which served only to
inflame the passion it was meant to chill. The favors of the
marchioness had hitherto been sought with avidity, and accepted with
rapture; and the repulsive insensibility which she now experienced,
roused all her pride, and called into action every refinement of
coquetry.

It was about this period that Vincent was seized with a disorder which
increased so rapidly, as in a short time to assume the most alarming
appearance. Despairing of life, he desired that a messenger might be
dispatched to inform the marquis of his situation, and to signify his
earnest wish to see him before he died. The progress of his disorder
defied every art of medicine, and his visible distress of mind seemed
to accelerate his fate. Perceiving his last hour approaching, he
requested to have a confessor. The confessor was shut up with him a
considerable time, and he had already received extreme unction, when
Madame de Menon was summoned to his bedside. The hand of death was now
upon him, cold damps hung upon his brows, and he, with difficulty,
raised his heavy eyes to madame as she entered the apartment. He
beckoned her towards him, and desiring that no person might be
permitted to enter the room, was for a few moments silent. His mind
appeared to labour under oppressive remembrances; he made several
attempts to speak, but either resolution or strength failed him. At
length, giving madame a look of unutterable anguish, 'Alas, madam,'
said he, 'Heaven grants not the prayer of such a wretch as I am. I
must expire long before the marquis can arrive. Since I shall see him
no more, I would impart to you a secret which lies heavy at my heart,
and which makes my last moments dreadful, as they are without hope.'