"No, no, Remy, take all that you want for the journey. Oh! Remy! I long to be with my father; I have sad presentiments, and it seems an age since I saw him." "And yet, madame, it is but three months; not a longer interval than usual." "Remy, you are such a good doctor, and you yourself told me, the last time we quitted him, that he had not long to live." "Yes, doubtless; but it was only a dread, not a prediction. Sometimes death seems to forget old men, and they live on as though by the habit of living; and often, besides, an old man is like a child, ill to-day and well to-morrow." "Alas! Remy, like the child also, he is often well to-day and dead to-morrow." Remy did not reply, for he had nothing really reassuring to say, and silence succeeded for some minutes. "At what hour have you ordered the horses?" said the lady, at last. "At two o'clock." "And one has just struck." "Yes, madame." "No one is watching outside?" "No one." "Not even that unhappy young man?" "Not even he." And Remy sighed. "You say that in a strange manner, Remy." "Because he also has made a resolution." "What is it?" "To see us no more; at least, not to try to see us any more." "And where is he going?" "Where we are all going--to rest.". "God give it him eternally," said the lady, in a cold voice, "and yet--" "Yet what, madame?" "Had he nothing to do here?" "He had to love if he had been loved." "A man of his name, rank, and age, should think of his future." "You, madame, are of an age, rank, and name little inferior to his, and you do not look forward to a future." "Yes, Remy, I do," cried she, with a sudden flashing of the eyes; "but listen! is that not the trot of a horse that I hear?" "Yes, I think so." "Can it be ours?" "It is possible; but it is an hour too soon." "It stops at the door, Remy." Remy ran down and arrived just as three hurried blows were struck on the door. "Who is there?" said he. "I!" replied a trembling voice, "I, Grandchamp, the baron's valet." "Ah! mon Dieu! Grandchamp, you at Paris! speak low! Whence do you come?" "From Meridor. Alas, dear M. Remy!" "Well," cried the lady from the top of the stairs, "are they our horses, Remy?" "No, madame, it is not them. What is it, Grandchamp?" "You do not guess?" "Alas! I do; what will she do, poor lady." "Remy," cried she again, "you are talking to some one?" "Yes, madame." "I thought I knew the voice." "Indeed, madame." She now descended, saying: "Who is there? Grandchamp?" "Yes, madame, it is I," replied the old man sadly, uncovering his white head. "Grandchamp! you! oh! mon Dieu! my presentiments were right; my father is dead?" "Indeed, madame, Meridor has no longer a master." Pale, but motionless and firmly, the lady listened; Remy went to her and took her hand softly. "How did he die; tell me, my friend?" said she.