Destiny, which is stronger than human love, or the soul's fidelity, had
overmastered self-sacrifice and the heart of a woman. This woman had
opened her eyes upon the world again, only to find it all night, all
strange; she was captive of a great darkness.
As she broke through the hedge of lilacs by the Cure's house, the crowd
of awe-stricken people fell back, opening a path for her to the door. She
moved as one unconscious of the troubled life and the vibrating world
about her.
The hand of the child admitted her to the chamber of death; the door
closed, and she stood motionless.
The Cure made as if to rise and go towards her, but Madame Chalice,
sitting sorrowful and dismayed at the foot of the couch, by a motion of
her hand stopped him.
The girl paused a moment, listening. "Your Excellency," she whispered. It
was as if a soul leaned out of the casement of life, calling into the
dark and the quiet which may not be comprehended by mortal man.
"Monsieur--Valmond!"
Her trembling hands were stretched out before her yearningly. The Cure
moved. She turned towards the sound with a pitiful vagueness.
"Valmond, O Valmond!" again she cried beseechingly, her clouded eyes
straining into the silence.
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