"Your eyes are very dry. No tears! What! not one tear when you see me
thus!"

"I can not weep," replied she; "I shall die!"

"It is very humiliating for me to be so poorly regretted, and it does you
little honor--try to shed a few tears, Madame--it will be remarked--a
widow who does not weep!"

"A widow--never!" she said, with energy.

"It would be convenient if they sold tears as they sell crape, would it
not? Ah! only you women have a real talent for that--all women know how
to weep."

"You will not die, Christian--oh! tell me that you will not die--and
that you will forgive me."

"Your lover has killed me," said Bergenheim, slowly; "I have a bullet in
my chest--I feel it--I am the one who is to die--in less than an hour I
shall be a corpse--don't you see how hard it is already for me to talk?"

In reality his voice was becoming weaker and weaker. His breath grew
shorter with each word; a wheezing sound within his chest indicated the
extent of the lesion and the continued extravasation of blood.

"Mercy! pardon!" exclaimed the unhappy woman, prostrating herself upon
the floor.