Jon Hagadorn

Well, Morel, let us both examine the depths of your heart.

Do you still feel the same feverish impatience of grief which made you start like a wounded lion?

Have you still that devouring thirst which can only be appeased in the grave?'

Are you still actuated by the regret which drags the living to the pursuit of death?

Or are you only suffering from the prostration of fatigue and the weariness of hope deferred?

Has the loss of memory rendered it impossible for you to weep?

Oh, my dear friend, if this be the case, if you could no longer weep, if your frozen heart be dead, if you put all your trust in God, then, Maximilian, you are consoled.

Do not complain.

said Morel, in a firm and at the same time soft voice.

"'Listen to me, as to a man whose thoughts are raised to heaven, though he remains on earth.

I come to die in the arms of a friend.

Certainly there are people whom I love.

I love my sister Julie.

I love her husband Emmanuel.

But I require a strong mind to smile on my last moments.'

My sister would be bathed in tears and fainting.

I could not bear to see her suffer.

Emmanuel would tear the weapon from my hand and alarm the house with his cries.

You, Count, who are more than mortal, will, I am sure, lead me to death by a pleasant path.

Will you not?