On his second visit, he said a few words to her of comfort, but
whispered to the count, while softly feeling William's pulse, that
nothing short of the strictest care could save the boy, the infection
he had received having been of the most malignant kind.
These words fell like an unrepealable sentence on the heart of
Thaddeus. Looking on the discolored features of the patient infant,
he fancied that he already beheld its clay-cold face, and its little
limbs stretched in death. The idea was bitterness to him; and
pressing the boy to his breast, he resolved that no attention should
be wanting on his part to preserve him from the grave. And he kept
his promise.
From that hour until the day in which the poor babe expired in his
arms, he never laid him out of them for ten minutes together; and
when he did breathe his last sigh, and raised up his little eyes,
Thaddeus met their dying glance with a pang which he thought his soul
had long lost the power to feel. His heart seemed to stop; and
covering the motionless face of the dead child with his hand, he made
a sign to Nanny to leave the room.
The girl, who from respect had been accustomed to obey his slightest
nod, went to her grandmother in the shop.
The instant the girl quitted the room, with mingled awe and grief the
count lifted the little corpse from his knee; and without allowing
himself to cast another glance on the face of the poor infant, now
released from suffering, he put it on the bed, and throwing the sheet
over it, sunk into a chair and burst into tears.
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