sending her a melancholy greeting. She gazed at them without a tear in her
eyes. The extreme pallor of her face and the slight trembling of her lips
alone revealed the grief that afflicted her soul.

Suddenly the flight of a white butterfly circling in the air attracted her
gaze. She followed it absently with her eyes, and the butterfly, as if
drawn by Berta's gaze, tracing capricious circles, left the terrace, flew
swiftly to Berta's window and entered the room.

With an involuntary movement Berta extended her hands to catch it, but the
butterfly darted between them, and circled swiftly and silently about her
head, forming around her brow a sort of aureole, which appeared and
disappeared like a succession of lightning flashes. The wings of the
butterfly glowed above Bertha's head with a light like the first splendors
of the dawn. Then it passed before her eyes, she saw it hovering over the
flowers on the terrace, and then it disappeared from her gaze as if it had
vanished into air. Her eyes sought it with indescribable eagerness, but in
vain; she saw it no more.

She clasped her hands and two large tears rose to her eyes and rolled down
her cheeks.

On the following day the housekeeper, entering Berta's room, saw a shadow
outlined against the wall above the head of her bed. This shadow, as the
nurse looked, took the form of a human head.

It was the head of Adrian Baker, the same head, with its pale forehead,
its compelling glance, and its smile, at once sweet, sad, and mocking.

The housekeeper, out of her wits with terror, crossed herself as if she