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Updated: May 16, 2025
"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.
A feeling of regret and deepest pity, at the thought of the inevitable catastrophe which must follow, had softened his heart. He saw in the most odious of colors the selfishness of his love. Clemence's last glance as she fell fainting at his feet a forgiving and a loving glance was like a dagger in his heart. He had ruined her! the woman he loved! the queen of his life! the angel he adored!
After glancing over the quadrille, as if it were by mere chance that his eyes had met Clemence's, he turned toward Aline and redoubled his amiability: A moment later, he received, not directly, but through the medium of the mirror that so often indiscreet confidant a second glance more sombre and threatening than before.
The most expert of lady's maids could not have removed the little ribbon from her neck, which seemed to trouble her respiration, more adroitly than did Octave. In spite of his anxiety, he could not repress a smile as he recognized the pin which he hardly expected to find upon Clemence's neck, considering the hostile way in which she had greeted him.
Clemence's death did not destroy the future of the man who loved her so passionately, but the mourning he wears for her, to this day, is of the kind that is never put aside. And, as the poet's heart was always reflected in his works, the world took part in this mourning without being initiated into its mystery.
After glancing over the quadrille, as if it were by mere chance that his eyes had met Clemence's, he turned toward Aline and redoubled his amiability: A moment later, he received, not directly, but through the medium of the mirror that so often indiscreet confidant a second glance more sombre and threatening than before.
Darsie slid a hand through Clemence's arm as she spoke and the two sisters squeezed down the narrow staircase, glad in their English, undemonstrative fashion of the close contact which an inherent shyness would have forbidden except in this accidental fashion. Across the oil- clothed passage they went, into the red-walled dining-room, where the other members of the family waited their arrival.
Clemence's performance seemed to give satisfaction, although she did not play as well as usual. After a few more questions, the lady asked the gentleman if she had not better engage the services of this young person at once. "By all means," he said with emphasis; "I have no doubt that the young lady will give perfect satisfaction." Clemence again felt grateful for his kindness.
Clemence's death did not destroy the future of the man who loved her so passionately, but the mourning he wears for her, to this day, is of the kind that is never put aside. And, as the poet's heart was always reflected in his works, the world took part in this mourning without being initiated into its mystery.
This life is but a fleeting dream, of happiness to some, misery to others, but there is a home beyond, and for the faithful, a "crown of glory which fadeth not away." For we know that there is an inheritance for those who persevere. Thoughts like these filled Clemence's mind as she walked towards home disheartened. She had cause for trouble.
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