“I lost my father on such a day as this,” said he, as if talking to himself—­“all our family die during the beautiful weather—­ah! do you see that smoke over the Montigny rock?” he exclaimed, suddenly.

After opening the windows, Clemence stepped out upon the balcony.  Leaning upon the balustrade, she gazed at the deep, rapid river which flowed at her feet.  Her husband’s voice calling her aroused her from this gloomy contemplation.  When she returned to Christian, his eyes were flaming, a flush like that of fever had overspread his cheeks, and a writhing, furious indignation was depicted upon his face.  “Were you looking at that smoke?” said he, angrily; “it is your lover’s signal; he is there—­he is waiting to take you away—­and I, your husband, forbid you to go—­you must not leave me—­your place is here—­close by me.”

“Close by you,” she repeated, not understanding what he said.

“Wait at least until I am dead,” he continued, while his eyes flashed more and more—­“let my body get cold—­when you are a widow you can do as you like—­you will be free—­and even then—­I forbid it—­I order you to wear mourning for me—­above all, try to weep—­”

“Strike me with a knife!  At least I should bleed,” said she, bending toward him and tearing open her dress to lay bare her bosom.

He seized her by the arm, and, exerting all his wasting strength to reach her, he said, in a voice whose harshness was changed almost into supplication: 

“Clemence, do not dishonor me by giving yourself to him when I am dead—­I would curse you if I thought that you would do that.”

“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.

Madame de Bergenheim, crouched down upon the floor, heard him repeating in his expiring voice: 

“I would curse you—­I would curse you!”

She remained motionless for some time, her eyes fastened upon the dying man before her with a look of stupefied curiosity.  Then she arose and went to the mirror; she gazed at herself for a moment as if obeying the whim of an insane woman, pushing aside, in order to see herself better, the hair which covered her forehead.  Suddenly a flash of reason came to her; she uttered a horrible cry as she saw some blood upon her face; she looked at herself from head to foot; her dress was stained with it; she wrung her hands in horror, and felt that they were wet.  Her husband’s blood was everywhere.  Then, her brain filled with the fire of raving madness, she rushed out upon the balcony, and Bergenheim, before his last breath escaped him, heard the noise of her body as it fell into the river.