The professor lay before them in the calm sleep of death. He looked unearthly yet beautiful with his serene, peaceful smile, like some newly created being, quietly waiting for the breath of life to be transformed into a living soul. Those penetrating eyes of his seemed to be piercing through the Veil into the Unseen Universe. All traces of pain and sorrow had vanished. One might almost fancy him quietly biding his time for the Easter Morn with a sure and certain hope of a joyful resurrection. Where was that noble spirit, that great master mind which for years had been unfolding the secrets of nature, and directing its unalterable laws into channels of usefulness for the benefit of untold generations to come? All around him the clang and din of life could be heard, the murmur of many voices sounding like some confused discord breaking through the leaves of the forest, while here he lay resembling some marble effigy carved by a master hand. Was his spirit gazing with a prophetic eye through the half-opened portal of death on the vista of heaven unfolded before him, or was he joining the music of an angelic choir, or listening to the clinging memories of some half forgotten tale of happy childhood? Dead to him were all the wranglings of jealousy, the bitterness of malice, the aching heart, and the ceaseless strife. That mighty unselfish soul overflowing with love and goodwill to all, cheerful amid despair, unconquered by obstacles, unfaltering in its duty--where was it now? And the answer, like the echo of death, came back, "Toll for the mighty dead, he is no more, his soul is gone for ever." Céleste silently slipped out of the room, and then ran as quickly as she could and told the others. They all hurried into the chamber, Céleste leading the way. "Oh, papa," she cried, "whatever shall we do, isn't it dreadful? My poor darling sister, it will kill her, I know it will. You don't know how she loved him," and she knelt down at the foot of the couch and sobbed convulsively. Villebois looked at Payot who was nervously twisting his fingers, while at the same time his face betrayed the conflict of emotions struggling within him. It was true the obstacle to Payot's scheme was at length removed, and for a moment a feeling of satisfaction thrilled him, but an instant after, the latent affection for his only daughter, which Delapine had succeeded in fanning into a feeble flame, awoke a better feeling in his heart, and the sight of her unutterable grief met with a speedy response in his better nature. He bent down and tenderly kissed his daughter. Renée turned her head up to her father with a look of surprise, as she was quite unaccustomed to receive any tokens of affection from him. "Villebois, mon cher," said Payot looking at him, "I hear someone knocking loudly at the door of the house." Villebois immediately went out of the room, and François ran up to him in an excited manner.