be not only fruitless, but an aggravation of her grief.
He knew the violence of sorrow must, like that of the mountain torrent, have way, ere it can subside. Followed by him and Madeline, she ascended to the chamber, but when she reached the door, she stopped, or rather shrunk back, from a sensation of horror at only beholding the coffin, before which rows of tapers burned, every ray of day-light being excluded. In speechless agonies she leaned a minute upon the shoulders of Madeline, then raising her head, she looked at Father Bertrand; "had you the cruelty (she cried) to intend I never more should behold my mother?—never! never, will I acquiesce in such an intention. I command! (advancing into the room) I insist! nay, I entreat! (she continued, and tears, the first she had shed, began to steal down her cheeks) that the coffin may be opened; cold and inanimate as is the form it contains, it will sooth my sad heart once more to behold it. Oh, suffer
