“I did not care to go up to my room, so went into the garden, and made my way to the bench where we two had sat so happily together. I went over in my own mind every detail of that fatal night, which is indelibly fixed in my memory.

  “The whole house was in darkness except for a faint light in one of the windows — it was Madeleine’s.

  “As I watched that trembling fitful light, I compared it to the feeble spark of life which still animated my poor darling, when suddenly the light disappeared, leaving me in darkness. I shuddered; was it not the symbol of my own fate? Even this will fade away, the only light which has brightened the dark shadow of my life.

  “I went back to my room weeping bitterly.”

  AMAURY TO ANTOINETTE.

  “I was mistaken, Antoinette; Monsieur d’Avrigny, like myself, has his moments of weakness and despair. When I entered his study this morning, I found him bent over his writing table, with his head buried in his hands.

  “In my turn, I believed him to have fallen asleep, and approached softly, feeling a little less ashamed of myself, now that I found that, after all, there was something human about this man; but I was soon undeceived, for at the sound of my footsteps he raised his head, and turned towards me a sad and tearful face.

  “My heart stood still, for I had never seen him weep before.

  “So long as he remained calm, I had concluded that he still entertained hopes of Madeleine’s recovery; but now I cried: ‘Is all chance of saving her over? are you then at the end of your resources? is there no new remedy you can attempt? ‘“‘She now responds to nothing — nothing! ‘he replied, ‘yesterday I tried a new mixture only to find it as useless and ineffectual as the others. Ah! what is the use of knowledge,’ he continued, rising and pacing the room, ‘a shadow, a meaningless word; if it were a question of recalling to life a worn-out old age which the weight of years is dragging down towards the grave, to renew the blood weakened by age; if, for instance, it were a question of myself, one could understand the helplessness of man to overcome nature or to fight against the inevitable. But no, the life we wish to save is that of a child born yesterday, a young life, fresh and sweet, only asking to be allowed to follow its own course, to be snatched from this fatal disease, and yet one can do nothing, — nothing!’

  V And the unhappy father wrung his hands, whilst I, equally powerless in my ignorance as he in his learning, looked helplessly at him.

  “‘And yet,’ he continued, as if speaking to himself, ‘if all those who have interested themselves in the art of healing, had only done their duty, and worked as earnestly as I have done, science would now be more advanced — the cowards! But, good heavens! in its present stage of advancement of what possible use is it. All it can do, is to teach me that in one short week my child will be dead.’

  “I moaned.

  “‘No! no! ‘he went on, half-fiercely, «surely not; before the week is over, I shall have saved her; I shall discover some elixir, some potion, the secret of defying even death; I shall find it, were it to be composed of blood from my own veins; she shall not die, she shall not die!’

  “I went up to him, and fearing he might fall, passed my arm round him.

  “‘Listen, Amaury,’ he said, ‘my brain is everlastingly filled with two thoughts, which I sometimes fear will drive me mad. The first is, that if we could convey my child without loss of time, sparing her any fatigue or shock, to a milder climate, Nice, Madeira or Padua, she might still live.

  “‘Since God has bestowed on fathers a love, divine in its essence, why has he not also given them power in proportion to their love, — the power to rule the hours, to annihilate space, to overturn the world. Good heavens! it is unjust! unfair!

  “‘The other thought which haunts me is that perhaps on the very day after my child’s death, a cure will be found for the disease which has killed her — who knows? perhaps I myself may discover it.

  ‘“Oh! believe me, Amaury; if I were the man to discover it, I think I should keep it to myself; what have the daughters of others to do with me; the other fathers should have saved my child’s life.’

  “Just then Miss Brown came into the room to tell Monsieur d’Avrigny that Madeleine had just awoke.

  “Then Antoinette, I witnessed a wonderful thing, — the self-control which this man has over himself. By sheer strength of will, he composed his tortured features to their usually calm expression.

  “But, day by day, I notice that this calmness is gradually becoming the calmness of despair. He left the room, asking whether I intended to accompany him.

  “But this strong stoicism is not mine to command at will. It takes me longer to regain my ordinary composure, and half- an-hour had passed away before my face had regained its usual serenity, and this half hour I have employed in writing to you, dear Antoinette.”

  AMAURY TO ANTOINETTE.

  “What an angel is lost to earth!

  “I gazed at Madeleine this morning, as she lay in bed with her long hair scattered over the pillow, her skin of creamy whiteness, her large melancholy eyes, her whole beauty of that unearthly kind which is so often seen on the faces of those near death, and I questioned with myself whether this voice, this expression, this deep love which illumines her smile, — whether all these are not attributes of the soul; can they emanate from anything but the soul; and is it possible for the soul to die?

  “Yet she will die!

  “All this beauty will fade away without ever having been mine, without having belonged to me. And on the judgment- day, when the recording angel calls my darling, to make of her an angel like himself, she will not bear my name.

  “Dear child! she realizes now that the noontide of her life is declining, and she is filled with vague forebodings.

  “This morning when, as usual, I stood for a moment outside her door, trying to compose myself before entering the room, I heard her say to Monsieur d’Avrigny, in her sweet childish voice: ‘Oh! I feel so ill! but you will save me, dear father, will you not? Because,’ — and she lowered her voice, — ’ were I to die, I know that he would not outlive me long’?

  “‘Yes! yes! my beloved; if you die, I too shall die.’

  “I came into the room at this moment, and knelt beside her.

  “Then as she saw that her father was about to reply, she silenced him by a look.

  “Evidently my poor darling does not think that I know how ill she really is, and she wishes to hide her fears from me.

  “She stretched out her hand, in token that I should rise, then when I stood beside her, she begged me to go into the drawing-room, and play once again that waltz of Weber’s of which she is so fond.

  “I hesitated, but Monsieur d’Avrigny bade me do as she wished.

  “Alas! poor dear Madeleine, this time she did not come to me, sustained by the magic of that haunting melody.

  “It was as much as she could do to raise herself in bed; then as the last note died away, she sank back on her pillows with closed eyes, and a deep sigh broke from her.

  “But thoughts of a deeper nature soon occupied her mind, and she asked her father to send to Ville d’Auray for the priest, who assisted at her first communion. And as Monsieur d’Avrigny left the room to write to the good father, she and I remained alone together.

  “Oh, God! is not all this heart-breaking! Yes, heart-breaking! that is the word.

  “But can you understand one thing, Antoinette; she never mentions you, never asks for you, neither does Monsieur d’Avrigny ever remind her of your existence.

  “Ah! were it not for your express wish that your name should never be mentioned in her presence, long ere this I would have found out the reason of this strange silence.”

  MONSIEUR DAVRIGNY TO THE CURE OF THE VILLAGE OF VILLE D’AVRAY.

  “DEAR SIR, “My daughter is dying, and desires, before she returns to God, to see her spiritual father. Come then, I beseech you, as soon as possible; I know you well enough to say no more than this, feeling sure that when anyone is suffering, and, in her need, calls upon you for help, the one word ‘Come! ‘will bring you to her side.

  “I would also ask another service at your hands; do not wonder at the nature of my strange request, and above all, dear sir, forget, I pray you, that this strange request is made by a man who has the reputation, very undeservedly, I own, of being one of the first physicians of the day.

  “This is the favour which I ask of you: We have at Ville d’Auray, I believe, a poor shepherd, André by name, who is supposed to be in possession of some wonderful cures, and, if the peasants are to be believed, this man has been known, by the simple admixture of certain herbs, to restore life to those whose recovery I was despaired of by the doctors.

  “Surely I have heard this said; I cannot have dreamt it? although my memory is failing, I may trust it thus far.

  “All these wonders were told to me at a time when all things smiled upon me, therefore at a time of unbelief.

  “Now, my dear sir, I implore you bring this man to me.

  “LEOPOLD D’AVRIGNY.”

  CHAPTER XXX.

  MONSIEUR d’Avrigny had despatched one of the grooms with a letter to the priest; and that same evening at five o’clock, he and the shepherd arrived together.

  The shepherd in question was a coarse, ignorant peasant, and if Monsieur d’Avrigny had really expected help from that quarter, it was plain to him at the man’s first words, how futile were the hopes he had entertained.

  Nevertheless he took him in to see the girl, on the pretext that the peasant had come to say that the priest would arrive on the following day.

  When a child, Madeleine had often seen the shepherd come to the house at Ville d’Auray, and she greeted him with a pleasant smile.

  Monsieur d’Avrigny, on leaving Madeleine’s room with the man, asked of him what he thought of his daughter.

  He, with all the stupidity of ignorance, replied that she was very ill, but that by means of the herbs which he had brought he had cured many who were far worse.

  The old shepherd then took the herbs out of his bag; these according to him, were doubly efficacious by reason of the time of year in which they had been gathered.

  “Monsieur d’Avrigny saw at a glance that these herbs could only have the effect of an ordinary tisane; but as, in any case, it could do no harm, he allowed the shepherd to prepare the beverage, and having lost all hope in this direction, he went back to the priest.

  “Monsieur le Curé,” said he, “the remedy which André suggests is ridiculous; but as it is not dangerous, he may have his way. It will neither hasten nor retard Madeleine’s death by one single hour, and her death will take place on Thursday night or Friday morning at latest. I know enough for that,” he added with a bitter smile; “yes! I am a sufficiently clever physician to be sure I make no mistake in predicting so much.”

  “You see, Monsieur le Curé,” he continued, “I have nothing further to hope for from this world.”

  “Trust in God, Monsieur d’Avrigny,” replied the priest.

  “Well,” said Monsieur d’Avrigny hesitatingly, “that is exactly what I wished to hear you say, Monsieur le Curé. Yes! I have always had faith, always believed in God, especially since he gave me my daughter, and yet, I own to you, that doubts have often crossed my mind. Truly, analysis leads to scepticism; by continually dwelling on material things, we end by becoming doubtful of the existence of the soul, and he who doubts the existence of the soul, is very near to doubting the existence of God. To deny the shade is to deny the sun. How often have I, in my poor human pride, dared to question the Divinity of our Lord Himself. Do not be shocked, my Father, for, at this present moment, I truly repent of my disbelief — I am guilty, ungrateful, odious! I believe--”

  “Only believe, and you will be saved,” said the priest.

  “Well! my Father, it is this promise of the Holy Gospel which I now invoke; because to-day, I not only believe in the spirit of it, like the wise, but I believe in the letter of it, like the simple.

  “I believe that God is good, great, merciful, everlasting, and ever-present, even in the smallest and most insignificant events of life.

  “I believe that the Gospel of our Blessed Lord comprises not only symbols but facts.

  “I believe that the story of Lazarus and of Jaïrus’ daughter are not parables, but events from real life; I do not wish to question the probability of collective resurrection, but rather the possibility of bringing back individuals to light and life.

  “Finally, I believe in the power bestowed by Him on His Apostles, and consequently in the miracles performed by the divine intercession of Saints.”

  “If this be true, you are indeed happy, my son,” said the priest.

  “Oh yes!” cried Monsieur d’Avrigny, falling on his knees, “yes! for, having this blind faith, I can kneel at your feet and say: ‘My Father, none have better deserved the halo of a Saint than you, for your whole life has been one of charity and prayer, and all your actions can pass pure and holy before the Lord; holy man that you are, perform a miracle, restore health to my daughter, restore life to my child — now what will you do? ‘“

  “Alas! alas!” replied the priest, “I pity you, and I am sorely grieved I am not the blameless man you believe me to be; that I have not the power to perform so wondrous a miracle, and that all I can do is to pray to Him who holds our destinies in His hands.”

  “Then, all is lost!” cried Monsieur d’Avrigny rising. “God will allow my child to die. He did not save His own Son.’; With these words Monsieur d’Avrigny left his study, followed by the worthy priest, who was inexpressibly shocked at his blasphemy.

  As Monsieur d’Avrigny had foreseen, the beverage prepared by André produced no effect upon Madeleine. She passed a restless night, but it was evident that even now her sleep was broken by troubled dreams.

  Towards morning she woke with a cry; Monsieur d’Avrigny was as usual standing beside her; she held out her arms to him, and exclaimed: “Oh! father! my dear good father! can you not save me?”

  Monsieur d’Avrigny took her in his arms, but tears choked his utterance.

  By a great effort, Madeleine regained control over herself, and enquired whether the priest had arrived.

  “Yes! my darling,” replied her father.

  “Then I should like to see him,” she said.

  As soon as the priest entered, Madeleine turned to him, saying: “Monsieur le Curé, you have always been my spiritual adviser, therefore I have sent for you as I desire to make confession. Are you ready to hear me now?”

  The priest made an affirmative sign, and Madeleine turning towards Monsieur d’Avrigny, said: “My dear father, leave me now for a few moments with my other father, who is our spiritual father.”

  Monsieur d’Avrigny kissed his child on the forehead and went out of the room.

  Meeting Amaury at the door, he took him by the hand, and, without a word, conducted him to Madeleine’s oratory; then arrived in front of the cross, he fell on his knees and drawing Amaury down beside him, he simply said, “Let us pray.”

  “Oh, God! God!” exclaimed Amaury, “is she dead! dead! and I was not beside her?”

  “No! no!” said Monsieur d’Avrigny, “be calm, Amaury; she will be with us in this world twenty-four hours longer, and I promise you that when she dies, you shall be there.”

  Amaury dropped his head on the prie-dieu, and burst into bitter sobs.

  They had remained thus about a quarter-of-an-hour, when the door slowly opened, and the sound of approaching footsteps roused them.

  Amaury turned and saw it was the old priest.

  “Well!” he asked.

  “She is an angel,” said the priest.

  Monsieur d’Avrigny raised his head, saying, “At what time will you administer extreme unction?”

  “This evening at five o’clock. Madeleine desires that Antoinette be present at this last solemn rite.”

  “Then,” said Monsieur d’Avrigny, “she knows that she is very near death;” and he rose and gave instructions that Antoinette should be fetched from Ville d’Auray; then he went back to Madeleine’s room, with Amaury and the priest.

  When Antoinette arrived at about four o’clock in the afternoon, the room presented a sad spectacle.

  At one side of the bed stood Monsieur d’Avrigny, gloomy, despairing, almost fierce, holding the dying girl’s hand in his own, whilst with fixed gaze he was still seeking in the depths of his soul for something which might be tried as a last resource — almost like a gambler risking his last coin.

  Amaury, seated on the other side, vainly tried to smile at Madeleine through his fast flowing tears. At the foot of the bed stood the priest, a grave and noble figure, now looking towards the dying girl, and now raising his eyes to the heaven which was so soon to receive her.

  Antoinette lifted the curtains, and for a few moments remained unperceived in the dimly lighted corner of the room.

  “Do not try to hide your tears, dear Amaury,” Madeleine softly said, “if I did not see them in your eyes I should feel ashamed of those which are in my own. It is not our fault if we weep, we cannot help it, because it is so sad, at our age, to be forced to part. Life seemed to me so beautiful and good.

  It is so sad, so sad to think that I shall see you no more, dear, that I shall no longer touch your hand, no longer thank you for all your tender love, no more lie down to sleep hoping to see you in my dreams. Oh! it is all too dreadful! Let me look at you, my darling, that I may remember your dear face when I shall be alone in the darkness of the grave.”

  “My child,” said the priest, “the glories of heaven will compensate for all that you leave on earth.”

  “Alas! I had his love,” Madeleine murmured, in a low tone, then raising her voice, she said, “Amaury, who will love or understand you as I do, who will submit all her actions, her feelings, her thoughts to your sweet control; who, like your own trusting Madeleine, will lose herself in your love? Oh! if I knew such an one, I swear to you, Amaury, I would bequeath you to her, for now I am no longer jealous.