“M. le Comte,” replied Diana, with majestic solemnity, “do not say to me things fit only to be said to a woman; I belong to another world, and do not live for this.  Had I seen you less noble—­less good—­less generous, had I not for you in the bottom of my heart the tender feeling of a sister for a brother, I should say, ’Rise, comte, and do not importune with love my ears, which hold it in horror.’  But I do not say so, comte, because I suffer in seeing you suffer.  I say more; now that I know you, I will take your hand and place it on my heart, and I will say to you willingly, ’See, my heart beats no more; live near me, if you like, and assist day by day, if such be your pleasure, at this painful execution of a body which is being killed by the tortures of the soul;’ but this sacrifice, which you may accept as happiness—­”

“Oh, yes!” cried Henri, eagerly.

“Well, this sacrifice I ought to forbid.  This very day a change has taken place in my life; I have no longer the right to lean on any human arm—­not even on the arm of that generous friend, that noble creature, who lies there, and for a time finds the happiness of forgetfulness.  Alas! poor Remy,” continued she, with the first change of tone that Henri remarked in her voice, “your waking will also be sad; you do not know the progress of my thought; you cannot read in my eyes that you will soon be alone, and that alone I must go to God.”

“What do you mean, madame? do you also wish to die?”

Remy, awakened by the cry of the young count, began to listen.

“You saw me pray, did you not?” said Diana.

“Yes,” answered Henri.

“This prayer was my adieu to earth; the joy that you remarked on my face—­the joy that fills me even now, is the same you would see in me if the angel of death were to come and say to me, ’Rise, Diana, and follow me.’”

“Diana!  Diana! now I know your name; Diana, cherished name!” murmured the young man.

“Oh, silence!” cried she, “forget this name which escaped me; no living person has the right to pierce my heart by pronouncing it.”

“Oh! madame, do not tell me you are going to die.”

“I do not say that,” replied she in her grave voice; “I say that I am about to quit this world of tears—­of hatreds—­of bad passions—­of vile interests and desires.  I say that I have nothing left to do among the creatures whom God created my fellow mortals; I have no more tears, no more blood in my heart; no more thoughts—­they are dead.  I am a worthless offering, for in renouncing the world I sacrifice nothing, neither desires nor hopes; but such as I am I offer myself to my God, and he will accept me—­he who has made me suffer so much, and yet kept me from sinking under it.”

Remy, who had heard this, rose slowly, and said, “You abandon me?”

“For God,” said Diana, raising her thin white hand to heaven.

“It is true,” said Remy, sadly; and seizing her hand he pressed it to his breast.