She still held him in her rigid clasp, but she moved
not. Upon her pale lips a smile seemed to hover. It was but the
shadow left behind of her retreating soul. Amelie de Repentigny was
dead! The angel of death had kissed her lovingly, and unnoticed of
any she had passed with him away.
The watchful eye of the Lady de Tilly was the first to see that
Amelie's breath had gone so quietly that no one caught her latest
sigh. The physician and chaplain rushed hurriedly into the chamber,
but too late. The great physician of souls had already put his
beloved to sleep,--the blessed sleep, whose dream is of love on
earth, and whose waking is in heaven. The great high priest of the
sons and daughters of men had anointed her with the oil of his
mercy, and sent his blessed angels to lead her to the mansions of
everlasting rest.
The stroke fell like the stunning blow of a hammer upon the heart of
Pierre. He had, indeed, foreseen her death, but tried in vain to
realize it. He made no outcry, but sat still, wrapped in a terrible
silence as in the midst of a desert.
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