Amelie opened her eyes and turned them inquiringly around the group
until they fastened upon Pierre. A flash of fondness suddenly
suffused her face, as she remembered how and why he was there. She
threw her arms around his neck and kissed him many times, murmuring,
"I have often prayed to die thus, Pierre! close to you, my love,
close to you; in your arms and God's, where you could receive my
last breath, and feel in the last throb of my heart that it is
wholly yours!"
"My poor Amelie," cried he, pressing her to his bosom, "you shall
not die! Courage, darling! It is but weakness and the air of the
convent; you shall not die."
"I am dying now, Pierre," said she, falling back upon her pillow.
"I feel I have but a short time to live. I welcome death, since I
cannot be yours. But, oh, the unutterable pang of leaving you, my
dear love!"
Pierre could only reply by sobs and kisses. Amelie was silent for a
few moments, as if revolving some deep thought in her mind.
"There is one thing, Pierre, I have to beg of you," said she,
faltering as if doubting his consent to her prayer.
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