you like--you will be free--and even then--I forbid it--I order you to
wear mourning for me--above all, try to weep--"

"Strike me with a knife! At least I should bleed," said she, bending
toward him and tearing open her dress to lay bare her bosom.

He seized her by the arm, and, exerting all his wasting strength to reach
her, he said, in a voice whose harshness was changed almost into
supplication:

"Clemence, do not dishonor me by giving yourself to him when I am dead--
I would curse you if I thought that you would do that."

"Oh! do not curse me!" she exclaimed; "do not drive me mad. Do you not
know that I am about to die?"

"There are women who do not see their husband's blood upon their lover's
hands--but I would curse you--"

He dropped Clemence's arm and fell back upon the mattress with a sob.
His eyes closed, and some unintelligible words died on his lips, which
were covered with a bloody froth. He was dying.

Madame de Bergenheim, crouched down upon the floor, heard him repeating
in his expiring voice:

"I would curse you--I would curse you!"

She remained motionless for some time, her eyes fastened upon the dying
man before her with a look of stupefied curiosity. Then she arose and