The countess, divining his thoughts, said to him in a soft and feeble voice, "You thought to find me dying; you came to receive my last farewell!" "I have always regarded as sacred the last wishes of the dying, but it appears I have been deceived." "Reassure yourself," said Sarah, interrupting Rudolph. "I have not deceived you; there remain for me but a few hours to live. Pardon me a last act of coquetry; I wished to spare you the usual attendants of a death-bed. I wished to die dressed as I was the first time I saw you. Alas! after ten years of separation, I see you again! Thanks--oh, thanks! But in your turn, render thanks to heaven for having moved you to come to listen to my last prayer. If you had refused me, I had carried with me to the tomb a secret which is going to make the joy, the happiness of your life. Joy mixed with some tears, like all other human felicity; but this felicity! you would buy it at the price of half the remaining days of your life!" "What do you mean to say?" demanded the prince, with surprise. "Yes, Rudolph, if you had not come, this secret would have followed me to the tomb--it had been my sole vengeance; and yet--no, no, I should not have had this terrible courage. Although you would have caused me much suffering, I should have divided with you this supreme happiness, which, more fortunate than I, you will a long time enjoy." "But, once more, madame, what means all this?" "When you know it, you will comprehend my delay in informing you, for you will regard this revelation as a miracle from heaven. But, strange thought--I, who with one word can cause you the greatest happiness that you have ever experienced--I feel, although now the minutes of my life are counted--I feel an indescribable satisfaction in prolonging your suspense; and, besides, I know your heart, and, in spite of the firmness of your character, I should fear to announce to you, without preparation, a discovery so incredible. The emotions of sudden joy have also their dangers." "Your pallor increases--you with difficulty restrain a violent agitation," said Rudolph; "all this proves that something grave and important----" "Grave and important!" repeated Sarah, in a faltering voice, for, notwithstanding her habitual immobility, in reflecting upon the immense importance of the revelation she was about to make to Rudolph, she felt herself more agitated than she could have thought possible. After a moment's silence, Sarah, no longer able to restrain herself, cried, "Rudolph, our child is not dead." "Our child!" "I tell you she lives!" These words, the accent of truth with which they were pronounced, moved the prince to the very bottom of his heart. "Our child!" he repeated, advancing hastily toward Sarah; "our child! my daughter!" "She is not dead; I have certain proofs; I know where she is--to-morrow you shall see her." "My daughter! my child!" repeated Rudolph, as if in a dream; "can it be possible? is she alive?"