"Yes--if I may." She spoke quite steadily and coldly. "I should like to see him--this poor murdered boy, if I may. I have never seen death, and I should like to know how it looks to be stabbed to the heart." Surely a strange uncanny fancy in this lovely young creature! There was something morbid about it, which the Doctor did not like; it almost repelled him until he recollected how nearly this very fate had been hers. He did not like assenting, but already he was so weak with regard to her that he could refuse her nothing. So he said reluctantly: "Come now then, if you wish." Quite quietly, only bending her head by way of reply, she followed him out of the room and down-stairs to an apartment on a level with the hall, where the murdered man had been carried. On the threshold he stopped, looking at her doubtfully. "Mademoiselle, are you sure of yourself? This is no sight for you." "Yes," she answered steadily. "Pray do not fear, sir; I shall not faint. Let me see." He stood aside and let her enter the darkened room. The blinds were drawn down, cooling liquids had been sprinkled about, there was nothing to horrify, nothing to disgust. The rigid figure, covered with white drapery, lay stretched upon the table. Without faltering, Alexia advanced, and, removing with a steady hand the cloth at the upper end, looked at the dead face thus revealed. A boy's face, indeed, beautiful even in death, smooth-cheeked, the dark down on the delicate upper lip hardly perceptible, the black hair clustering upon the white forehead almost like a child's. The governess looked at it long and steadily, and one hand went to her bosom as she raised her eyes to the Doctor's. "Tell me--did he suffer much?" "No--impossible. Death must have been almost instantaneous. I doubt if he was able to cry out. Pray come away, Mademoiselle--you will faint. I should not have let you see this." A voice in the hall called the Doctor. He was wanted, had been sent for in haste, some one was dying. He went quickly to the door to reply. Alexia Boucheafen bent down, her hand gently swept the hair from the dead boy's forehead, and for a moment her lips rested upon it. "Poor boy," she murmured--"you were too young, too weak! It was cruel. I did my best to save you, but I could not." "Mademoiselle, pray come," said the Doctor, turning from the door. "I am coming, sir," replied the governess; and with that she gently replaced the sheet, and followed him quietly from the room. * * * * *