inanimate form of Berta, as if death thus rendered homage to death.

Attracted by the light of the torches, a white butterfly flew silently in
and circled around and around the head of the dead girl.

Watching the body were the father, leaning over the bier, bowed down under
the weight of an immeasurable grief; the nurse dissolved in tears; Adrian,
with dry and glittering eyes, pale, motionless, mute, terrible in his
anguish; and the priest with folded arms and head bent over his breast,
murmuring pious prayers.

Such was the scene which the morning sun lighted in Berta's room. The
birds of the garden alighted on the rail of the window, but did not
venture to enter; they looked in apprehensively and flew away terrified;
they twittered on the branches of the trees, and their melancholy
chirpings seemed like sighs.

Breathing a sigh torn from the inmost depths of his soul, Adrian Baker
exclaimed in a hollow voice:

"Miserable man that I am! I have killed her!"

"Ah, yes," said the priest, slowly shaking his head. "Divine Justice--
Doubt kills."





MAESE PEREZ, THE ORGANIST