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Updated: June 25, 2025
Somewhere in the building a clock struck three, and at that instant there was a tap at the door, and Alresca's valet discreetly entered. "Monsieur rang?" "No, Alexis. Leave us." Comprehending that it was at last Alresca's hour for retiring, I rose to leave, and called the man back. "Good night, dear friend," said Alresca, pressing my hand.
I had two surprises, one greater and one less. In the first place, the Anglo-Belgian lawyer whom I had summoned informed me, after Alresca's papers had been examined and certain effects sealed in the presence of an official, that my friend had made a will, bearing a date immediately before our arrival in Bruges, leaving the whole of his property to me, and appointing me sole executor.
I remained motionless in my chair for hours, and then it was soon after the clocks struck four I sprang up, and searched among my papers for Alresca's letter, the seal of which, according to his desire, was still intact. The letter had been in my mind for a long time.
And her voice was so pure and kind, and her glance so innocent, and her grief so pitiful, that I dismissed forever any shade of a suspicion that I might have cherished against her. Although she had avoided my question, although she had ignored its tone, I knew with the certainty of absolute knowledge that she had no more concern in Alresca's death than I had.
Carl Foster," Sir Cyril explained smoothly, and she laid Alresca's head gently on the bare planks of the floor. "Will everyone kindly stand aside, and I will examine him." No one moved. The King continued his kingly examination of the prone form. Not a fold of Ortrud's magnificent black robe was disturbed.
I remembered the disappearance of Sir Cyril Smart. I remembered all the inexplicable circumstances of Alresca's strange decay, and his equally strange recovery. I remembered that his recovery had coincided with an entire absence of communication between himself and Rosa.... And then she comes! And within an hour he is dead! "I love her. He has come again.
On the second day a priest called at the house on the Quai des Augustins, and said that he had been sent by the Bishop to ask if I cared to witness the lying-in-state from some private vantage-ground. I went to the cathedral, and the Bishop himself escorted me to the organ-loft, whence I could see the silent crowds move slowly in pairs past Alresca's bier, which lay in the chancel.
"They can try," said Rosetta Rosa. "You wish me to try?" I faced her. She inclined her head. "Then I will," I said with sudden passionateness, forgetting even that I was not Alresca's doctor. The carriage stopped. In the space of less than a quarter of an hour, so it seemed to me, we had grown almost intimate she and I.
Alresca's man was awaiting us in the portico of the Devonshire, and without a word he led us to his master. Alresca lay on his back on a couch in a large and luxuriously littered drawing-room. The pallor of his face and the soft brilliance of his eyes were infinitely pathetic, and again he reminded me of the tragic and gloomy third act of "Tristan." He greeted us kindly in his quiet voice.
She and Sullivan Smith are on their way home from Bayreuth; they are at the Hôtel du Rhin. She wanted to know all about what happened in the Rue Thiers, and to save trouble I told her. She stayed a long time. There have been a lot of callers. I am very tired. I I expected you earlier. But you are not listening." I was not. I was debating whether or not to show her Alresca's letter.
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