“Alas! it is of no use, my beloved.  I see that you are doing all you can.  An hour ago I wanted to die; now I do not.  Gwynplaine—­my adored Gwynplaine—­how happy we have been!  God placed you in my life, and He takes me out of yours.  You see, I am going.  You will remember the Green Box, won’t you, and poor blind little Dea?  You will remember my song?  Do not forget the sound of my voice, and the way in which I said, ’I love you!’ I will come back and tell it to you again, in the night while you are asleep.  Yes, we found each other again; but it was too much joy.  It was to end at once.  It is decreed that I am to go first.  I love my father, Ursus, and my brother, Homo, very dearly.  You are all so good.  There is no air here.  Open the window.  My Gwynplaine, I did not tell you, but I was jealous of a woman who came one day.  You do not even know of whom I speak.  Is it not so?  Cover my arms; I am rather cold.  And Fibi and Vinos, where are they?  One comes to love everybody.  One feels a friendship for all those who have been mixed up in one’s happiness.  We have a kindly feeling towards them for having been present in our joys.  Why has it all passed away?  I have not clearly understood what has happened during the last two days.  Now I am dying.  Leave me in my dress.  When I put it on I foresaw that it would be my shroud.  I wish to keep it on.  Gwynplaine’s kisses are upon it.  Oh, what would I not have given to have lived on!  What a happy life we led in our poor caravan!  How we sang!  How I listened to the applause!  What joy it was never to be separated from each other!  It seemed to me that I was living in a cloud with you; I knew one day from another, although I was blind.  I knew that it was morning, because I heard Gwynplaine; I felt that it was night, because I dreamed of Gwynplaine.  I felt that I was wrapped up in something which was his soul.  We adored each other so sweetly.  It is all fading away; and there will be no more songs.  Alas that I cannot live on!  You will think of me, my beloved!”

Her voice was growing fainter.  The ominous waning, which was death, was stealing away her breath.  She folded her thumbs within her fingers—­a sign that her last moments were approaching.  It seemed as though the first uncertain words of an angel just created were blended with the last failing accents of the dying girl.

She murmured,—­

“You will think of me, won’t you?  It would be very sad to be dead, and to be remembered by no one.  I have been wayward at times; I beg pardon of you all.  I am sure that, if God had so willed it, we might yet have been happy, my Gwynplaine; for we take up but very little room, and we might have earned our bread together in another land.  But God has willed it otherwise.  I cannot make out in the least why I am dying.  I never complained of being blind, so that I cannot have offended any one.  I should never have asked for anything, but always to be blind as I was, by your side.  Oh, how sad it is to have to part!”