"You are very welcome," said Veronique, advancing toward them,--"you particularly," she added, offering her hand to Monsieur de Grandville, who took it and pressed it.
"I counted on the intervention of Monseigneur and on that of my friend Monsieur Grossetete to obtain for me a favorable reception," said the /procureur-general/. "It would have been a life-long regret to me if I did not see you again."
"I thank those who brought you here," replied Veronique, looking at the Comte de Grandville for the first time in fifteen years. "I have felt averse to you for a very long time, but I now recognize the injustice of my feelings; and you shall know why, if you can stay till the day after to-morrow at Montegnac." Then turning to Horace Bianchon and bowing to him, she added: "Monsieur will no doubt confirm my apprehensions. God must have sent you, Monseigneur," she said, turning to the archbishop. "In memory of our old friendship you will not refuse to assist me in my last moments. By whose mercy is it that I have about me all the beings who have loved and supported me in life?"
As she said the word /loved/ she turned with a gracious look to Monsieur de Grandville, who was touched to tears by this mark of feeling. Silence fell for a few moments on every one. The doctors wondered by what occult power this woman could still keep her feet, suffering as she must have suffered. The other three men were so shocked at the ravages disease had suddenly made in her that they communicated their thoughts by their eyes only.
"Allow me," she said, with her accustomed grace, "to leave you now with these gentlemen; the matter is urgent."
She bowed to her guests, gave an arm to each of the doctors, and walked toward the chateau feebly and slowly, with a difficulty which told only too plainly of the coming catastrophe.
"Monsieur Bonnet," said the archbishop, looking at the rector, "you have accomplished a miracle."
"Not I, but God, Monseigneur," he replied.
"They said she was dying," said Monsieur Grossetete, "but she is dead; there is nothing left of her but spirit."
"A soul," said Gerard.
"And yet she is still the same," cried the /procureur-general/.
"A stoic after the manner of the Porch philosophers," said the tutor.
They walked in silence the whole length of the balustrade, looking at the landscape still red with the declining light.
"To me who saw this scene thirteen years ago," said the archbishop, pointing to the fertile plain, the valley, and the mountains of Montegnac, "this miracle is as extraordinary as that we have just witnessed. But how comes it that you allow Madame Graslin to walk about? She ought to be in her bed."
"She was there," said Madame Sauviat; "for ten days she did not leave it; but to-day she insisted on getting up to take a last look at the landscape."
"I can understand that she wanted to bid farewell to her great creation," said Monsieur de Grandville; "but she risked expiring on this terrace."
"Monsieur Roubaud told us not to thwart her," said Madame Sauviat.
"What a stupendous work! what a miracle has been accomplished!" said the archbishop, whose eyes were roving over the scene before him. "She has literally sown the desert! But we know, monsieur," he added, turning to Gerard, "that your scientific knowledge and your labors have a large share in it."
"They have been only the workmen," replied the mayor. "Yes, the hands only; she has been the thought."
Madame Sauviat here left the group, to hear, if possible, the decision of the doctors.
"We need some heroism ourselves," said Monsieur de Grandville to the rector and the archbishop, "to enable us to witness this death."
"Yes," said Monsieur Grossetete, who overheard him, "but we ought to do much for such a friend."
After several turns up and down the terrace, these persons, full of solemn thoughts, saw two farmers approaching them, sent as a deputation from the village, where the inhabitants were in a state of painful anxiety to know the sentence pronounced by the physician from Paris.
"They are still consulting, and as yet we know nothing, my friends," said the archbishop.
As he spoke, Monsieur Roubaud appeared coming toward them, and they all hurried to meet him.
"Well?" said the mayor.
"She cannot live forty-eight hours longer," replied Monsieur Roubaud.
"During my absence the disease has fully developed; Monsieur Bianchon does not understand how it was possible for her to have walked. Such phenomenal exhibitions of strength are always caused by great mental exaltation. So, gentlemen," said the doctor to the priests, "she belongs to you now; science is useless, and my illustrious fellow- physician thinks you have barely time enough for your last offices."
"Let us go now and say the prayers for the forty hours," said the rector to his parishioners, turning to leave the terrace. "His Grace will doubtless administer the last sacraments."
The archbishop bowed his head; he could not speak; his eyes were full of tears. Every one sat down, or leaned against the balustrade, absorbed in his own thought. The church bells presently sent forth a few sad calls, and then the whole population were seen hurrying toward the porch. The gleam of the lighted tapers shone through the trees in Monsieur Bonnet's garden; the chants resounded. No color was left in the landscape but the dull red hue of the dusk; even the birds had hushed their songs; the tree-frog alone sent forth its long, clear, melancholy note.
"I will go and do my duty," said the archbishop, turning away with a slow step like a man overcome with emotion.
The consultation had taken place in the great salon of the chateau.
This vast room communicated with a state bedchamber, furnished in red damask, in which Graslin had displayed a certain opulent magnificence.
