"Ah," said Berta, laying her hands on his breast, "what if it were too
late!"

Then, turning to her father and the nurse, she said:

"I feel very cold; let us return to the villa;" and leaning on Adrian
Baker's arm, she led the way.

Her father and the nurse followed her in silence. The good man had
comprehended everything, but the poor woman comprehended nothing.

What passed that night in the villa it is not necessary to relate; it was
a night of pain, of agitation, and of anguish. It was necessary to go to
the city for a physician; why? Because Berta was dying. Adrian Baker was
the image of despair; the unhappy father wept as if his heart would break,
and the nurse stole away from time to time to cry, unable to restrain her
tears.

At dawn it was necessary to go again to the city, for the physician of the
body had exhausted the resources of science, and they were obliged to have
recourse to the physician of the soul.

Dawn was just breaking when a priest alighted at the door of the villa.
The sick girl received him, if we may be allowed the expression, with
melancholy gladness, and a little later all was over.

In the middle of the room, on a funeral bier, lighted by six large wax
tapers, which cast a melancholy light around, lay the body of the dead
girl. The window admitted the morning light; and the autumn wind, tearing
the dead leaves from the trees in the garden, scattered them over the