so like hers; so cut (trying to describe its mouth on his own.) My grief did not think of it, but if I could have had a drawing of it!  She was always thinking of others, not of herself—­no one so little selfish—­always looking out for comfort for others.  She had been for hours, for many hours, in great pain—­she was in that situation where selfishness must act if it exists—­when good people will be selfish, because pain makes them so—­and my Charlotte was not—­any grief could not make her so!  She thought our child was alive; I knew it was not, and I could not support her mistake.  I left the room, for a short time:  in my absence they took courage, and informed her.  When she recovered from it, she said, ’Call in Prince Leopold—­there is none can comfort him but me!  My Charlotte, my dear Charlotte!  And now, looking at the picture, he said, Those beautiful hands, that at the last, when she was talking to others were always looking out for mine!’”

“I need not tell you my part in this interview; he appeared to rely on my sharing his thoughts.”

* * * * *

“Towards the close of our interview, I asked him, ’if the princess at the last felt her danger?’ He said, ’No; my Charlotte thought herself very ill, but not in danger.  And she was so well but an hour and a half after the delivery!—­And she said I should not leave her again—­and I should sleep in that room—­and she should have in the sofa bed—­and she should have it where she liked—­she herself would have it fixed.  She was strong, and had so much courage, yet once she seemed to fear.  You remember she was affected when you told her that you could not paint my picture just at that time; but she was much more affected when we were alone—­and I told her I should sit when we went to Marlborough House after her confinement, ‘Then,’ she said, ’if you are to sit when you go to town, and after my confinement—­then I may never see that picture.’  My Charlotte felt she never should.”

“More passed in our interview, but not much more—­chiefly, my part in it.  At parting he pressed my hand firmly—­held it long, I could almost say affectionately, I had been, by all this conversation, so impressed with esteem for him, that an attempt to kiss his hand that grasped mine was resistless, but it was checked on both sides. I but bowed—­and he drew my hand towards him:  he then bade me good by, and on leaving the room turned back to give me a slow parting nod,—­and though half blinded myself, I was struck with the exceeding paleness of his look across the room.  His bodily health, its youthfulness cannot sink under this heaviest affliction!  And his mind is rational; but when thus leaving the room, his tall dark figure, pale lace, and solemn manner, for the moment, looked a melancholy presage.”

“I know that your good-nature will forgive my not answering your letter in detail, since I have refrained from it but to give you this narration of beings so estimable, so happy, and so parted.”