“Think of nothing but God, Madame–leaving these earthly matters.” She held up her hand. “My Lord–that diamond ring; take it to my brother.” He drew it from her finger. “Tell him I regret nothing so much as his grief. Tell the Duke of York–that–also.” As she said no more the Ambassador drew back into the crowded chamber. Madame became weaker; an intense chillness had succeeded her heat; her hands and feet were cold; it seemed to her that her heart had almost stopped. With a sudden unutterable pang she remembered her keys. Monsieur would get them; he would read her papers, her letters. If she had only known last night— Now he would see how she had lied to him— She strove to put this thought from her; he was the master now and she helpless. The Capuchin continued his discourse; she prayed him, very sweetly, to leave her in peace for a while. She received the Holy Eucharist; to her it was a blur of gold vessels, a murmur of words. She fainted three times while they administered it. Another doctor arrived; he advised a bleeding in her foot. “Then you must make haste,” she whispered. Her head was whirling; she felt that the room had grown immense, that a great multitude was about her–talking, whispering, sobbing. She never asked for her children and no one thought to speak of them or bring them; but they sent for M. de Condom. She felt her foot bared and the prick of the lancet; as they bathed it they cried out she was dying. Very little blood came. They gave her extreme unction. She felt herself now in a soft darkness, striving for the light; she thought that this light would either blast or comfort her–and that it was God. She called out for her husband; he came instantly. “Will you leave the room now, Monsieur?” she asked. “Have you my keys?” “Yes, Madame.” “Be merciful,” she whispered piteously. “Adieu, Monsieur.” He embraced her silently and went away, leaving her to her darkness. The clock struck two. M. de Condom arrived; she saw him, heard that he was speaking to her but she did not know what he said. The lapping darkness was wrapping her; she saw through it glimmering points of candles and weeping faces; she saw, too, Exeter towers, very plainly, and the laughing eyes of M. de Guiche. Then the mists cleared, and she beheld everything in a bright, strong light. She turned to a woman who bent over her pillow and said in English– “When I am dead give M. de Condom the emerald ring I am having made for him.” Her natural courtesy spared his thanks by speaking in a language he did not understand. Her agonies were suddenly ceased; she turned on her side with a soft sigh. “I think I could sleep,” she said to M. de Condom. “May I, for a little–sleep?” He said “Yes,” and that he would go and pray for her. He descended the steps of her bed; he had hardly crossed the room before she called to him in a sweet voice– “It has come. I am dying.”