his　soul；　he　laid　his　head　on　the　pillow；　closed　his　eyes；　and　did　not　open　them　again　until　the　return　of　the　doctors。　Still　the　same　cold　and　sinister　faces；　veritable　physiognomies　of　judges　having　on　their　lips　the　terrible　decree　of　human　fate；　the　final　word　which　the　courts　pronounce　fearlessly；　but　which　the　doctors；　whose　science　it　mocks；　elude；　and　express　in　periphrases。
  〃Well；　gentlemen；　what　says　the　faculty？〃　demanded　the　sick　man。
  There　were　sundry　murmurs　of　hypocritical　encouragement；　vague　recommendations；　then　the　three　learned　physicians　hastened　to　depart；　eager　to　escape　from　the　responsibility　of　this　disaster。　Monpavon　rushed　after　them。　Jenkins　remained　at　the　bedside；　overwhelmed　by　the　cruel　truths　which　he　had　just　heard　during　the　consultation。　In　vain　had　he　laid　his　hand　on　his　heart；　quoted　his　famous　motto；　Bouchereau　had　not　spared　him。　It　was　not　the　first　of　the　Irishman's　clients　whom　he　had　seen　thus　suddenly　collapse；　but　he　fervently　hoped　that　the　death　of　Mora　would　act　as　a　salutary　warning　to　the　world　of　fashion；　and　that　the　prefect　of　police；　after　this　great　calamity；　would　send　the　〃dealer　in　cantharides〃　to　retail　his　drugs　on　the　other　side　of　the　Channel。
  The　duke　understood　immediately　that　neither　Jenkins　nor　Louis　would　tell　him　the　true　issue　of　the　consultation。　He　abstained；　therefore；　from　any　insistence　in　his　questionings　of　them；　submitted　to　their　pretended　confidence；　affected　even　to　share　it；　to　believe　the　most　hopeful　things　they　announced　to　him。　But　when　Monpavon　returned；　he　summoned　him　to　his　bedside；　and；　confronted　by　the　lie　visible　even　beneath　the　make…up　of　the　decrepit　old　man；　remarked：
  〃Oh；　you　knowno　humbug！　From　you　to　me；　truth。　What　do　they　say？　I　am　in　a　very　bad　way；　eh？〃
  Monpavon　prefaced　his　reply　with　a　significant　silence；　then　brutally；　cynically；　for　fear　of　breaking　down　as　he　spoke：
  〃Done　for；　my　poor　Augustus！〃
  The　duke　received　the　sentence　full　in　the　face　without　flinching。
  〃Ah！〃　he　said　simply。
  He　pulled　his　mustache　with　a　mechanical　gesture；　but　his　features　remained　motionless。　And　immediately　he　made　up　his　mind。
  That　the　poor　wretch　who　dies　in　a　hospital；　without　home　or　family；　without　other　name　than　the　number　of　his　bed；　that　he　should　accept　death　as　a　deliverance　or　bear　it　as　his　last　trial；　that　the　old　peasant　who　passes　away；　bent　double；　worn　out；　in　his　dark　and　smoky　cellar；　that　he　should　depart　without　regret；　savouring　in　advance　the　taste　of　that　fresh　earth　which　he　has　so　many　times　dug　over　and　over　that　is　intelligible。　And　yet　how　many；　even　among　such；　cling　to　existence　despite　all　their　misery！　how　many　there　are　who　cry；　holding　on　to　their　sordid　furniture　and　to　their　rags；　〃I　don't　want　to　die！〃　and　depart　with　nails　broken　and　bleeding　from　that　supreme　wrench。　But　here　there　was　nothing　of　the　kind。
  To　possess　all；　and　to　lose　all。　What　a　catastrophe！
  In　the　first　silence　of　that　dreadful　moment；　while　he　heard　the　sound　of　the　music　coming　faintly　from　the　duchess's　ball　at　the　other　end　of　the　palace；　whatever　attached　this　man　to　life；　power；　honour；　wealth；　all　that　splendour　must　have　seemed　to　him　already　far　away　and　in　an　irrevocable　past。　A　courage　of　a　quite　exceptional　temper　must　have　been　required　to　bear　up　under　such　a　blow　without　any　spur　of　personal　vanity。　No　one　was　present　save　the　friend；　the　doctor；　the　servant；　three　intimates　acquainted　with　all　his　secrets；　the　lights　moved　back；　left　the　bed　in　shadow；　and　the　dying　man　might　quite　well　have　turned　his　face　to　the　wall　in　lamentation　of　his　own　fate　without　being　noticed。　But　not　an　instant　of　weakness；　nor　of　useless　demonstration。　Without　breaking　a　branch　of　the　chestnut…trees　in　the　garden；　without　withering　a　flower　on　the　great　staircase　of　the　palace；　his　footsteps　muffled　on　the　thick　pile　of　the　carpets；　Death　had　opened　the　door　of　this　man　of　power　and　signed　to　him　〃Come！〃　And　he　answered　simply；　〃I　am　ready。〃　The　true　exit　of　a　man　of　the　world；　unforeseen；　rapid；　and　discreet。
  Man　of　the　world！　Mora　was　nothing　if　not　that。　Passing　through　life　masked；　gloved；　breast…platedbreast…plate　of　white　satin；　such　as　the　masters　of　fence　wear　on　great　days；　preserving　his　fighting　dress　immaculate　and　clean；　sacrificing　everything　to　that　irreproachable　exterior　which　with　him　did　duty　for　armour；　he　had　determined　on　his　/role/　as　statesman　in　the　passage　from　the　drawing…room　to　a　wider　scene；　and　made；　indeed；　a　statesman　of　the　first　rank　on　the　strength　alone　of　his　qualities　as　a　man　about　town；　the　art　of　listening　and　of　smiling；　knowledge　of　men；　scepticism；　and　coolness。　That　coolness　did　not　leave　him　at　the　supreme　moment。
  With　eyes　fixed　on　the　time；　so　short；　which　still　remained　to　him　for　the　dark　visitor　was　in　a　hurry；　and　he　could　feel　on　his　face　the　draught　from　the　door　which　he　had　not　closed　behind　himhis　one　thought　now　was　to　occupy　the　time　well；　to　satisfy　all　the　obligations　of　an　end　like　his；　which　must　leave　no　devotion　unrecompensed　nor　compromise　any　friend。　He　gave　a　list　of　certain　persons　whom　he　wished　to　see　and　who　were　sent　for　immediately；　summoned　the　head　of　his　cabinet；　and；　as　Jenkins　ventured　the　opinion　that　it　was　a　great　fatigue　for　him；　said：
  〃Can　you　guarantee　that　I　shall　wake　to…morrow　morning？　I　feel　strong　at　this　moment；　let　me　take　advantage　of　it。〃
  Louis　inquired　whether　the　duchess　should　be　informed。　The　duke；　before　replying；　listened　to　the　sounds　of　music　that　reached　his　room　through　the　open　windows　from　the　little　ball；　sounds　that　seemed　prolonged　in　the　night　on　an　invisible　bow；　then　answered：
  〃Let　us　wait　a　little。　I　have　something　to　finish。〃
  They　brought　to　his　bedside　the　little　lacquered　table　that　he　might　himself　sort　out　the　letters　which　were　to　be　destroyed；　but　feeling　his　strength　give　way；　he　called　Monpavon。
  〃Burn　everything；〃　said　he　to　him　in　a　faint　voice；　and　seeing　him　move　towards　the　fireplace；　where　a　fire　was　burning　despite　the　warmth　of　the　season；
  〃No；〃　he　added；　〃not　here。　There　are　too　many　of　them。　Some　one　might　come。〃
  Monpavon　took　up　the　writing…table；　which　was　not　heavy；　and　signed　to　the　/valet　de　chambre/　to　go　before　him　with　a　light。　But　Jenkins　sprang　forward：
  〃Stay　here；　Louis；　the　duke　may　want　you。〃
  He　took　hold　of　the　lamp；　and　moving　carefully　down　the　whole　length　of　the　great　corridor；　exploring　the　waiting…rooms；　the　galleries；　in　which　the　fireplaces　proved　to　be　filled　with　artificial　plants　and　quite　emptied　of　ashes；　they　wandered　like　spectres　in　the　silence　and　darkness　of　the　vast　house；　alive　only　over　yonder　on　the　right；　were　pleasure　was　singing　like　a　bird　on　a　roof　which　is　about　to　fall　in　ruins。
  〃There　is　no　fire　anywhere。　What　is　to　be　done　with　all　this？〃　they　asked　each　other　in　great　embarrassment。　They　might　have　been　two　thieves　dragging　away　a　chest　which　they　did　not　know　how　to　open。　At　last　Monpavon；　out　of　patience；　walked　straight　to　a　door；　the　only　one　which　they　had　not　yet　opened。
  〃/Ma　foi/；　so　much　the　worse！　Since　we　cannot　burn　them；　we　will　drown　them。　Hold　the　light；　Jenkins。〃
  And　they　entered。
  Where　were　they？　Saint…Simon　relating　the　downfall　of　one　of　those　sovereign　existences；　the　disarray　of　ceremonies；　of　dignities；　of　grandeurs；　caused　by　death　and　especially　by　sudden　death；　only　Saint…Simon　might　have　found　words　to　tell　you。　With　his　delicate；　carefully　kept　hands；　the　Marquis　de　Monpavon　did　the　pumping。　The　other　passed　to　him　the　letters　after　tearing　them　into　small　pieces；　packets　of　letters；　on　satin　paper；　tinted；　perfumed；　adorned　with　crests；　coats　of　arms；　small　flags　with　devices；　covered　with　handwritings；　fine；　hurried；　scrawling；　entwining；　persuasive；　and　all　those　flimsy　pages　went　whirling　one　over　the　other　in　eddying　streams　of　water　which　crumpled　them；　soiled　them；　washed　out　their　tender　links　before　allowing　them　to　disappear　with　a　gurgle　down　the　drain。
  They　were　love…letters　and　of　every　kind；　from　the　note　of　the　adventuress；　〃/I　saw　you　pass　yesterday　in　the　Bois；　M。　le　Duc/；〃　to　the　aristocratic　reproaches　of　the　last　mistress　but　one；　and　the　complaints　of　ladies　deserted；　and　the　page；　still　fresh；　of　recent　confidences。　Monpavon　was　in　the　secret　of　all　these　mysteriesput　a　name　on　each　of　them：　〃That　is　Mme。　Moor。　Hallo！　Mme。　d'Athis！〃　A　confusion　of　coronets　and　initials；　of　caprices　and　old　habits；　sullied　by　the　promiscuity　of　this　moment；　all　engulfed　in　the　horrid　closet　by　the　light　of　a　lamp；　with　the　noise　of　an　intermittent　gush　of　water；　departing　into　oblivion　by　a　shameful　road。　Suddenly　Jenkins　paused　in　his　work　of　destruction。　Two　satin…gray　letters　trembled　as　he　held　them　in　his　fingers。
  〃Who　is　that？〃　asked　Monpavon；　noticing　the　unfamiliar　handwriting　and　the　Irishman's　nervous　excitement。　〃Ah；　doctor；　if　you　want　to　read　them　all；　we　shall　never　have　finished。〃
  Jenkins；　his　cheeks　flushed；　the　two　letters　in　his　hand；　was　consumed　by　a　desire　to　carry　them　away；　to　pore　over　them　at　his　ease；　to　martyrize　himself　with　delight　by　reading　them；　perhaps　also　to　forge　out　of　this　correspondence　a　weapon　for　himself　against