“She, formerly so beautiful, seemed the ghost of herself. The hand of God had already touched her. “I seated myself at her bedside. She extended to me her trembling, icy hand. “I pressed it to my lips, my cold lips. “We gave a last painful look at the past I accused myself of having destroyed her. “We spoke of our unfortunate child. We wept, oh, how bitterly! when suddenly-- “Ah! I feel still the cold sweat deluge my brow. My hair stands on end, and a terrible voice cries to me, ‘Murderer! Murderer!’ “Oh, I will not seek to fly from remorse; till my last day I shall keep before me the image of my victim. “By the judgment of God, which has already condemned me, I take oath to do it. “Let me recall the scene. “It was a terrible moment. “The chamber of Emilie was dimly lighted by a night-lamp placed near the door. “My back was toward this door. I was seated by her bed. She could not retain her sobs. My forehead was resting on my hand. “The most profound silence reigned around us. “I had just spoken to her of our child. I had just promised to fulfil her will in reference to him. “I had tried to console her, to induce her to hope for better days, to reanimate her courage, to give her strength to conceal all from her husband; to prove to her that, for his own peace and happiness, it was better to let him remain in confident security. “Suddenly the door behind me opened with violence. “Emilie cried in terror: ‘My husband! I am dead!’ “Before I could turn around, an involuntary movement of her husband extinguished the lamp. “We were all three in the dark. “‘Do not kill me before forgiving me!’ cried Emilie. “‘Oh--you first--him afterwards,’ said Count de Montreuil, in a hollow voice. “The moment was horrible. “He advanced irresolutely. I advanced also. “I wished to meet him and hold him back. “We said nothing. The silence was profound. “Nothing was heard but the sound of our oppressed breathing, and the low, spasmodic voice of Emilie, who murmured: ‘Lord have pity on me! Lord have pity on me!’ “Suddenly I felt a hand as cold as marble on my forehead. “It was the hand of her husband. In seeking her, he had touched me. “He started, and said, without concerning himself further about me: ‘Her bed ought to be on the left!’ “His calmness terrified me. I threw myself on him. “At that moment, Emilie, whom he had doubtless already seized, cried, ‘Mercy! Mercy!’ “I tried to take him by the middle of his body. I felt the point of a dagger graze my hand. “Emilie uttered a long sigh. She was killed or wounded, her blood spouted up on my forehead. “Then my brain became wild; I felt myself endowed with a supernatural strength. With my left hand I seized the right arm of the murderer; with my right hand I snatched his dagger from him, and plunged it twice in his breast. “I heard him fall without uttering a cry. From that moment I remember nothing.