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74 After a few minutes of silent observation, they retired to the adjacent apartment, for the purpose of consultation: it was evidently but nominal; there was no power on earth that could close the grave now yawning for the young, the lovely, the beloved, and, but an hour since, the seemingly healthy Duchesse de Mercœur.

A thousand confused images arose in mournful succession as Francesca bent over that melancholy pillow. Who could tell the husband, who had that morning left her with no other anxiety but that gentle solicitude inseparable from love,—who could tell him that his idolised wife had breathed her last—and not in his arms? Who, in after years, could supply a mother's place to the bereaved child, in whom affection's sweetest fountain must remain for ever unstirred? There was something inexpressibly painful in the monotonous nursery song with which the ancient nurse was mechanically soothing its unconscious sleep.

A momentary restlessness in the features of the Duchesse induced Francesca to attempt altering her position; and with the aid of the attendants, this was soon accomplished; but observing that Henriette followed her with an anxious gaze, she seated herself on the bed, and supported her head with her arm, so that she could watch the slightest