The Duchess,
waking at about four in the morning, signed to me in the most touching
way, with a friendly smile, to bid me leave him to rest, and she
meanwhile was about to die. She had become incredibly thin, but her
face had preserved its really sublime outline and features. Her pallor
made her skin look like porcelain with a light within. Her bright eyes
and color contrasted with this languidly elegant complexion, and her
countenance was full of expressive calm. She seemed to pity the Duke,
and the feeling had its origin in a lofty tenderness which, as death
approached, seemed to know no bounds. The silence was absolute. The
room, softly lighted by a lamp, looked like every sickroom at the hour
of death.
"At this moment the clock struck. The Duke awoke, and was in despair
at having fallen asleep. I did not see the gesture of impatience by
which he manifested the regret he felt at having lost sight of his
wife for a few of the last minutes vouchsafed to him; but it is quite
certain that any one but the dying woman might have misunderstood it.
A busy statesman, always thinking of the interests of France, the Duke
had a thousand odd ways on the surface, such as often lead to a man of
genius being mistaken for a madman, and of which the explanation lies
in the exquisiteness and exacting needs of their intellect.
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