“I had begged thee to wait, although thy soul must have thirsted for vengeance; and as the dead see all, thou hast seen, my love, that I lived only not to kill my father, else I would have died after you; and then, you know, on your bleeding corpse I uttered a vow to give death for death, blood for blood, but I would not do it while the old man called me his innocent child.  Thou hast waited, beloved, and now I am free:  the last tie which bound me to earth is broken.  I am all yours, and now I am free to come to you.”

She rose on one knee, kissed the hand, and then went on:  “I can weep no more—­my tears have dried up in weeping over your tomb.  In a few months I shall rejoin you, and you then will reply to me, dear shade, to whom I have spoken so often without reply.”  Diana then rose, and seating herself in her chair, muttered, “Poor father!” and then fell into a profound reverie.  At last she called Remy.

The faithful servant soon appeared.

“Here I am, madame.”

“My worthy friend, my brother—­you, the last person who knows me on this earth—­say adieu to me.”

“Why so, madame?”

“Because the time has come for us to separate.”

“Separate!” cried the young man.  “What do you mean, madame?”

“Yes, Remy.  My project of vengeance seemed to me noble and pure while there remained an obstacle between me and it, and I only contemplated it from afar off; but now that I approach the execution of it—­now that the obstacle has disappeared—­I do not draw back, but I do not wish to drag with me into crime a generous and pure soul like yours; therefore you must quit me, my friend.”

Remy listened to the words of Diana with a somber look.

“Madame,” replied he, “do you think you are speaking to a trembling old man?  Madame, I am but twenty-six; and snatched as I was from the tomb, if I still live, it is for the accomplishment of some terrible action—­to play an active part in the work of Providence.  Never, then, separate your thoughts from mine, since we both have the same thoughts, sinister as they may be.  Where you go, I will go; what you do I will aid in; or if, in spite of my prayers, you persist in dismissing me—­”

“Oh!” murmured she, “dismiss you!  What a word, Remy!”

“If you persist in that resolution,” continued the young man, “I know what I have to do, and all for me will end with two blows from a poniard—­one in the heart of him whom you know, and the other in your own.”

“Remy!  Remy!” cried Diana, “do not say that.  The life of him you threaten does not belong to you—­it is mine—­I have paid for it dearly enough.  I swear to you, Remy, that on the day on which I knelt beside the dead body of him”—­and she pointed to the portrait—­“on that day I approached my lips to that open wound, and the trembling lips seemed to say to me, ‘Avenge me, Diana!—­avenge me!’”

“Madame—­”

“Therefore, I repeat, vengeance is for me, and not for you; besides, for whom and through whom did he die?  By me and through me.”