"
Another moment, and a young officer in the Italian uniform entered
hurriedly,--his face was very pale,--and as the Comtesse Hermenstein
received him in her own serene sweet manner which, for all its high-
bred air had something wonderfully winning and childlike about it,
his self-control gave way, and when after a profound salute he
raised his eyes, she saw they were full of tears. Her heart began to
beat violently.
"You bring some bad news?" she asked faintly.
"Madama, I beg you not to distress yourself--this letter--" and he
held out a sealed envelope,--"was given to me specially marked,
among others, by my friend, the Marquis Fontenelle--last right
before--before he went to his death!"
"His death!" echoed Sylvie, her eyes dilating with horror--"His
death! What do you mean?"
Madame Bozier came quickly to her side, and put a hand gently on her
arm. But she did not seem to feel the sympathetic touch.
"His death!" she murmured. And with trembling fingers she opened and
read the last lines ever penned by her too passionate admirer.
"SWEETEST SYLVIE! Dearest and purest of women! If you ever receive
this letter I shall be gone beyond the reach of your praise or your
blame. For it will not be given to you at all unless I am dead.
Pages:
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567