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"She did not die a natural death." "Indeed?" "She poisoned herself. She could not bear the life. It was very dreadful." Francesca's voice sank to a low tone. Lord Redin was silent for a few moments, and his bony face had a grim look. Perhaps something in the dead woman's last act appealed to him, as nothing in her life had done. "Tell me, please. I should like to know.

She has given me back my freedom. I shall not disturb her." The colour was in Francesca's face, and her eyes looked down. Her delicate lips were a little drawn in, as though she were making an effort to restrain her words, for it was one of the hardest moments of her life. Being what she was, it was impossible for her to understand Gloria's conduct.

Boffin came in, with a blue ribbon around his neck, and helped himself to Aunt Francesca's chair. Isabel rocked him and he got down, without undue haste. He marched over to a straight-backed chair with a cushion in it; glared at Isabel for a moment with his inscrutable topaz eyes, then began to purr. The clock chimed seven silvery notes. Madame Bernard waved her white lace fan impatiently.

Indeed, less, since almost as much does he need cheering himself. For although Francesca's fate is a thing of keen inquietude to the brother, it is yet of keener to the cousin. Love is the strongest of the affections. But youth, ever hopeful, hinders them from despairing; and despite their solicitude, they find words of comfort for her who hears them without being comforted.

They prepared both medicine and food; watched the sick by day and by night; laboured incessantly for their bodies, and still more for their souls. Many were those who recovered health through Francesca's care, and many more who were healed of the worst disease of the soul, a hardened impenitence under the just judgment of God.

But the bright archangel, whose task is nearly at an end, is still at his post; he weaves the last threads of the mystic woof, and seems to make haste to finish his work. The halo of light which surrounds him grows brighter and brighter, and Francesca's dying form reflects that splendour. On the Monday morning she is still in the same state.

Francesca's exhortations had their effect, and the fervent prayers they drew forth had theirs also; for in the same year the Bishops of Recaunti and of Turpia reassumed, in the Pope's name, possession of the city; and the Romans, wearied with anarchy, gladly welcomed their rule. A more terrible evil, a more appalling danger now threatened not only Rome but the whole Catholic world.

Inspired by Francesca's last budget, full of all sorts of revealing details of her daily life, I said to Himself at breakfast: "I am not going to paint this morning, nor am I going to 'keep house'; I propose to write in my loose-leaf diary, and what is more I propose to write about marriage!" When I mentioned to Himself the subject I intended to treat, he looked up in alarm.

These, the count ordered to be removed at once to a place which he called the Elfin Grotto, giving instructions that the three which were considered to be the fleetest were to be saddled and bridled ready for instant use, Francesca's saddle being required for one of them.

There was nothing very unusual in Donna Francesca's views, except her constant and industrious energy in carrying them out.