These princes of science were divided in their opinions. One, who stood alone in his views, considered it a case of poisoning, of private revenge, and denied its identity with the disease known in the Middle Ages. Three others regarded it as a specific deterioration of the blood and the humors. The rest, agreeing with Bianchon, maintained that the blood was poisoned by some hitherto unknown morbid infection. Bianchon produced Professor Duval’s analysis of the blood. The remedies to be applied, though absolutely empirical and without hope, depended on the verdict in this medical dilemma. Lisbeth stood as if petrified three yards away from the bed where Valerie lay dying, as she saw a priest from Saint-Thomas d’Aquin standing by her friend’s pillow, and a sister of charity in attendance. Religion could find a soul to save in a mass of rottenness which, of the five senses of man, had now only that of sight. The sister of charity who alone had been found to nurse Valerie stood apart. Thus the Catholic religion, that divine institution, always actuated by the spirit of self-sacrifice, under its twofold aspect of the Spirit and the Flesh, was tending this horrible and atrocious creature, soothing her death-bed by its infinite benevolence and inexhaustible stores of mercy. The servants, in horror, refused to go into the room of either their master or mistress; they thought only of themselves, and judged their betters as righteously stricken. The smell was so foul that in spite of open windows and strong perfumes, no one could remain long in Valerie’s room. Religion alone kept guard there. How could a woman so clever as Valerie fail to ask herself to what end these two representatives of the Church remained with her? The dying woman had listened to the words of the priest. Repentance had risen on her darkened soul as the devouring malady had consumed her beauty. The fragile Valerie had been less able to resist the inroads of the disease than Crevel; she would be the first to succumb, and, indeed, had been the first attacked. “If I had not been ill myself, I would have come to nurse you,” said Lisbeth at last, after a glance at her friend’s sunken eyes. “I have kept my room this fortnight or three weeks; but when I heard of your state from the doctor, I came at once.” “Poor Lisbeth, you at least love me still, I see!” said Valerie. “Listen. I have only a day or two left to think, for I cannot say to live. You see, there is nothing left of me--I am a heap of mud! They will not let me see myself in a glass.--Well, it is no more than I deserve. Oh, if I might only win mercy, I would gladly undo all the mischief I have done.” “Oh!” said Lisbeth, “if you can talk like that, you are indeed a dead woman.” “Do not hinder this woman’s repentance, leave her in her Christian mind,” said the priest.