What he has once touched with his hand, that is
past recovery, it is his.
The blood no longer flowed from Carlo's wound, the breath no longer
rattled in his throat--it was silent; but a blessed smile still lay upon
his lips. With this smile had he died, happy, blessed in the embrace of
her he had so truly loved.
When Marianne, after long and vain efforts to open the door, had finally
managed, by tying her bed-clothes together, to let herself down into the
garden, and had thence hastened into the house, and up into Natalie's
chamber, she found there all silent and still. Nothing stirred. Natalie
lay in a deathlike swoon.
He, Carlo, already stiffened in death, and she, the senseless Natalie,
with her head reclining against the marble face of her friend!
Poor Natalie! Why must Marianne succeed in awakening thee from thy
swoon? Why did you not let her continue in her insensibility, Marianne?
In sleep, she at least would not have realized that she was now left
entirely alone, entirely abandoned, with no one to defend her against
her cruel and artful enemies, of whose existence she never once dreamed!
INTRIGUES
Count Orloff lay in a comfortable, careless position upon his divan,
leisurely smoking his long Turkish pipe.
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