About nine that evening I stopped at the humble house where this royal fortune had arrived so tardily. The little servant opened the door. She was crying. From the staircase above came the grave voice of M. Laubépin. "It is he," said the voice. I went up the stairs quickly. The old man grasped my hand warmly, and took me into Mlle. de Porhoët’s room. The doctor and the curé stood silent in the shadow of the window. Mme. Laroque knelt at the bedside; her daughter was arranging the pillow where the pale face of my old friend rested. When the sick woman saw me a faint smile flickered across her face. Painfully she moved one of her arms. I took her hand; I fell on my knees; I could not keep back my tears. "My child," she said, "my dear child!" Then she looked intently at M. Laubépin. The old notary took from the bed a piece of paper, and, as if he were continuing to read after an interruption, he went on: "For these reasons," he read, "I appoint by this holograph will Maxime-Jacques-Marie Odiot, Marquis de Champcey d’Hauterive, noble by heart as by descent, sole and universal legatee of all my property in Spain as well as in France, without reserve or condition. Such is my will. "JOCELYNDE JEANNE, "COMTESSE DE PORHOËT-GAËL." In my astonishment I had risen and was about to speak, when Mlle. de Porhoët, gently retaining my hand, placed it in Marguerite’s. At this sudden contact the dear creature trembled. She bent her young forehead on the mournful pillow, and, blushing, whispered something in the dying woman’s ear. I could not speak. I fell on my knees, and prayed to God. Some minutes passed in solemn silence, when Marguerite suddenly withdrew her hand with a gesture of alarm. The doctor came up hastily. I rose. Mlle. de Porhoët’s head had fallen back; with a fixed and radiant glance she looked towards heaven; her lips half-opened, and as if she were speaking in a dream, she whispered: "God! the good God! I see Him there ... up there.... Yes ... the choir ... the golden lamps ... the windows ... the sun everywhere.... Two angels kneeling before the altar ... in white robes ... their wings move ... God, they are alive!" This cry died on her lips, which remained smiling. She closed her eyes as if she were going to sleep, and suddenly an air of immortal youth fell on her face, making it almost unrecognisable to us. [Illustration: "I felt her lips on mine——I thought my soul was escaping from me" (see page 246)] Such a death, after such a life, had lessons with which I desired to fill my soul. I begged to be left alone with the priest in the room. This pious vigil will not, I believe, be unavailing. From that face, irradiated with a glorious peace, where a supernatural light seemed to glow, more than one forgotten or questioned truth came home to me with irresistible force. Noble and holy friend, well I knew that the virtue of sacrifice was yours! Now I see that you have entered into your reward.