She wrote a note, full of humility, begging his forgiveness for her conduct during their last interview, and asking him to grant her a few moments' conversation during the day. She sent for a messenger to carry the note, and then she dismissed Lorette for the day and began to prepare herself for the expected guest. Lorette took her departure reluctantly. "Madame is not herself; Madame is ill, and needs looking after!" she muttered, as she went out, and many times during the day and in succeeding days and weeks, her light volatile French spirits were shadowed by the recollection of her mistress's face, as she last saw it. Dolores was one of the few women who can be beautiful even when suffering mental and physical pain. As a rule, happiness and health are necessary cosmetics to beauty; but hers was a face that even much weeping, and sleepless nights of torturing pain could not disfigure. She robed herself all in white, as Percy best loved to see her. She wore his favorite jewels, and a bright knot of ribbon he had once admired, at her throat. Suddenly, in the midst of her preparation, she paused. The full consciousness of her humiliating position dawned upon her with startling force. "My God! how low I have fallen!" she sobbed, and yet she did not draw back from the resolution she had formed, to throw herself upon the pity of the man she loved. She had been Queen of the feast; and now she was about to beg for crumbs from the table presided over by another. The hours lagged by on leaden wings. Why did not the messenger return? It was late in the afternoon when he made his appearance. He was out of breath from running up the flight of stairs, and he handed her back--her own note. "Could you not find the gentleman? I told you to leave the note if he was not in!" she said sharply, so keen was her disappointment. "Yes'm, I know you did," the boy answered, "but there was people there, and a doctor. And the doctor he came to the door, and he said as the gentleman mustn't be disturbed--he was sick, and goin' to die before mornin', perhaps. And I felt scared like, and come off without leaving the letter." The boy turned away, and Dolores closed the door upon him, quickly, as if to shut out his evil message with him. Sick, dying! and who were the people with him? who had the right to be with him and minister to his needs, save herself? It was her place--hers only. She must go to him--she must save him by the strength of her love. She did not wait to make any change in her attire. She seized the nearest garment at hand--a soft white shawl, and a hat with nodding white plumes, and hurried forth. When she reached the building in which Percy's apartments were situated, she met the physician just emerging from the street door. She forced a calm exterior as she addressed him. "I came to ask after your patient," she said. "Is it true that he is not expected to live?"