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Those who were in the dimly lit reception room spoke in nervous

whispers, and, whenever anyone went into or came from the dying

man's room, grew silent and gazed with eyes full of curiosity or

expectancy at his door, which creaked slightly when opened.

"The limits of human life ... are fixed and may not be

o'erpassed," said an old priest to a lady who had taken a seat

beside him and was listening naively to his words.

"I wonder, is it not too late to administer unction?" asked the

lady, adding the priest's clerical title, as if she had no

opinion of her own on the subject.

"Ah, madam, it is a great sacrament," replied the priest, passing

his hand over the thin grizzled strands of hair combed back

across his bald head.

"Who was that? The Military Governor himself?" was being asked at

the other side of the room. "How young-looking he is!"

"Yes, and he is over sixty. I hear the count no longer recognizes

anyone. They wished to administer the sacrament of unction."