The Writings of Prosper Mérimée/Volume 1/Arsène Guillot/Chapter 3
III
She found the poor girl in a pitiful condition. It was apparent that her last hour was near, and since the day before the disease had made horrible progress. Her breathing was no more than a painful death-rattle, and they told Madame de Piennes that she had been delirious several times during the morning, and that the doctor did not think that she could live until the morrow.
Arsène, however, recognised her protectress and thanked her for coming to see her.
"You will no longer fatigue yourself by mounting my staircase," she said to her in a voice almost inaudible.
Each word seemed to cost her a painful effort and weaken the little strength remaining to her. It was necessary to lean over her bed in order to hear her. Madame de Piennes had taken her hand, and it was already cold and lifeless.
Max arrived presently and silently ap-
proached the bed of the dying girl. She made him a slight sign with her head, and observing that he had a book in his hand:
"You will not read to-day," she murmured feebly.
Madame de Piennes glanced at the book, so-called; it was a bound chart of Greece, which he had purchased in passing.
The Abbé Dubignon, who had been with Arsene throughout the morning, observing how rapidly her strength was failing, wished to turn to profit for her salvation, the few minutes that still remained to him. He waved aside Max and Madame de Piennes, and bending over the bed of suffering, he addressed to the poor girl the solemn and consoling words which religion reserves for such moments. In a corner of the chamber Madame de Piennes was kneeling in prayer, and Max, standing by the window seemed transformed to a statue.
"You forgive all those who have injured you, my daughter," said the preacher, in a voice choked with emotion.
"Yes! May they be happy!" replied the dying girl, with an effort to make herself heard.
"Put your trust in God's mercy, my daughter!" continued the abbé. "Repentance opens the gates of heaven."
For some minutes longer the abbé continued his exhortations; then he ceased to speak, uncertain whether he had anything but a corpse before him. Madame de Piennes arose softly, and every one remained for a time immovable, anxiously regarding the livid face of Arsène. Her eyes were closed. Each one held his breath, lest he should disturb the terrible sleep which had perhaps already begun for her, and there could be distinctly heard in the chamber the ticking of a watch which lay upon the table.
"She is gone, the poor girl!" the nurse said at last, after holding her snuff-box to the lips of Arsène; "see, the glass is not tarnished. She is dead!"
"Poor child!" exclaimed Max, arousing from the stupor in which he seemed to be lost. "What happiness has she had in this world?"
Suddenly, and as though reanimated by his voice, Arsène opened her eyes.
"I have loved," she murmured in a hollow voice.
She moved her fingers and appeared to wish to stretch out her hands. Max and Madame de Piennes had approached and each took one of them.
"I have loved," she repeated with a sad smile.
Those were her last words. Max and Madame de Piennes held her cold hands for a long time without daring to raise their eyes.