"Mercy! pardon!" exclaimed the unhappy woman, prostrating herself upon the floor. "More air--open the windows--" said the Baron, as he fell back upon the mattress, exhausted by the efforts he had just made to talk. Madame de Bergenheim obeyed his order with the precision of an automaton. A fresh, pure breeze entered the room; when the curtains were raised, floods of light illuminated the floor, and the old portraits, suddenly lighted up, looked like ghosts who had left their graves to witness the death agonies of the last of their descendants. Christian, refreshed by the air which swept over his face, sat up again. He gazed with a melancholy eye at the radiant sun and the green woods which lay stretched out in front of the chateau. "I lost my father on such a day as this," said he, as if talking to himself--"all our family die during the beautiful weather--ah! do you see that smoke over the Montigny rock?" he exclaimed, suddenly. After opening the windows, Clemence stepped out upon the balcony. Leaning upon the balustrade, she gazed at the deep, rapid river which flowed at her feet. Her husband's voice calling her aroused her from this gloomy contemplation. When she returned to Christian, his eyes were flaming, a flush like that of fever had overspread his cheeks, and a writhing, furious indignation was depicted upon his face. "Were you looking at that smoke?" said he, angrily; "it is your lover's signal; he is there--he is waiting to take you away--and I, your husband, forbid you to go--you must not leave me--your place is here--close by me." "Close by you," she repeated, not understanding what he said. "Wait at least until I am dead," he continued, while his eyes flashed more and more--"let my body get cold--when you are a widow you can do as you like--you will be free--and even then--I forbid it--I order you to wear mourning for me--above all, try to weep--" "Strike me with a knife! At least I should bleed," said she, bending toward him and tearing open her dress to lay bare her bosom. He seized her by the arm, and, exerting all his wasting strength to reach her, he said, in a voice whose harshness was changed almost into supplication: "Clemence, do not dishonor me by giving yourself to him when I am dead-- I would curse you if I thought that you would do that." "Oh! do not curse me!" she exclaimed; "do not drive me mad. Do you not know that I am about to die?" "There are women who do not see their husband's blood upon their lover's hands--but I would curse you--" He dropped Clemence's arm and fell back upon the mattress with a sob. His eyes closed, and some unintelligible words died on his lips, which were covered with a bloody froth. He was dying. Madame de Bergenheim, crouched down upon the floor, heard him repeating in his expiring voice: "I would curse you--I would curse you!"