Her words were more and more inarticulate, evaporating into each other, as if they were being blown away.  She had become almost inaudible.

“Gwynplaine,” she resumed, “you will think of me, won’t you?  I shall crave it when I am dead.”

And she added,—­

“Oh, keep me with you!”

Then, after a pause, she said,—­

“Come to me as soon as you can.  I shall be very unhappy without you, even in heaven.  Do not leave me long alone, my sweet Gwynplaine!  My paradise was here; above there is only heaven!  Oh!  I cannot breathe!  My beloved!  My beloved!  My beloved!”

“Mercy!” cried Gwynplaine.

“Farewell!” murmured Dea.

And he pressed his mouth to her beautiful icy hands.  For a moment it seemed as if she had ceased to breathe.  Then she raised herself on her elbows, and an intense splendour flashed across her eyes, and through an ineffable smile her voice rang out clearly.

“Light!” she cried.  “I see!”

And she expired.  She fell back rigid and motionless on the mattress.

“Dead!” said Ursus.

And the poor old man, as if crushed by his despair, bowed his bald head and buried his swollen face in the folds of the gown which covered Dea’s feet.  He lay there in a swoon.

Then Gwynplaine became awful.  He arose, lifted his eyes, and gazed into the vast gloom above him.  Seen by none on earth, but looked down upon, perhaps, as he stood in the darkness, by some invisible presence, he stretched his hands on high, and said,—­

“I come!”

And he strode across the deck, towards the side of the vessel, as if beckoned by a vision.

A few paces off was the abyss.  He walked slowly, never casting down his eyes.  A smile came upon his face, such as Dea’s had just worn.  He advanced straight before him, as if watching something.  In his eyes was a light like the reflection of a soul perceived from afar off.  He cried out, “Yes!” At every step he was approaching nearer to the side of the vessel.  His gait was rigid, his arms were lifted up, his head was thrown back, his eyeballs were fixed.  His movement was ghost-like.  He advanced without haste and without hesitation, with fatal precision, as though there were before him no yawning gulf and open grave.  He murmured, “Be easy.  I follow you.  I understand the sign that you are making me.”  His eyes were fixed upon a certain spot in the sky, where the shadow was deepest.  The smile was still upon his face.  The sky was perfectly black; there was no star visible in it, and yet he evidently saw one.  He crossed the deck.  A few stiff and ominous steps, and he had reached the very edge.

“I come,” said he; “Dea, behold, I come!”

One step more; there was no bulwark; the void was before him; he strode into it.  He fell.  The night was thick and dull, the water deep.  It swallowed him up.  He disappeared calmly and silently.  None saw nor heard him.  The ship sailed on, and the river flowed.