Paphnutius followed her into a courtyard flooded with the morning light.  On the edge of the brick roofs, the pigeons formed a string of pearls.  On a bed, in the shade of the fig tree, Thais lay quite white, her arms crossed.  By her side stood veiled women, reciting the prayers for the dying.

"Have mercy, upon me, O God, according to Thy loving kindness:  according unto the multitude of Thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions."

He called her—­

“Thais!”

She raised her eyelids, and turned the whites of her eyes in the direction of the voice.

Albina made a sign to the veiled women to retire a few paces.

“Thais!” repeated the monk.

She raised her head; a light breath came from her pale lips.

“Is it thou, my father? . . .  Dost thou remember the water of the spring, and the dates that we picked? . . .  That day, my father, love was born in my heart—­the love of life eternal.”

She was silent, and her head fell back.

Death was upon her, and the sweat of the last agony bedewed her forehead.  A pigeon broke the still silence with its plaintive cooing.  Then the sobs of the monk mingled with the psalms of the virgins.

"Wash me thoroughly from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin.  For I acknowledge my transgressions:  and my sin is ever before me."

Suddenly Thais sat up in the bed.  Her violet eyes opened wide, and with a rapt gaze, her arms stretched towards the distant hills, she said in a clear, fresh voice—­

“Behold them—­the roses of the eternal dawn!”

Her eyes shone; a slight flush suffused her face.  She had revived, more sweet and more beautiful than ever.  Paphnutius knelt down, and threw his long black arms around her.

“Do not die!” he cried, in a strange voice, which he himself did not recognise.  “I love thee!  Do not die!  Listen, my Thais.  I have deceived thee?  I was but a wretched fool.  God, heaven—­all that is nothing.  There is nothing true but this worldly life, and the love of human beings.  I love thee!  Do not die!  That would be impossible—­thou art too precious!  Come, come with me!  Let us fly?  I will carry thee far away in my arms.  Come, let us love!  Hear me, O my beloved, and say, ’I will live; I wish to live.’  Thais, Thais, arise!”

She did not hear him.  Her eyes gazed into infinity.

She murmured—­

“Heaven opens.  I see the angels, the prophets, and the saints. . . .  The good Theodore is amongst them, his hands filled with flowers; he smiles on me and calls me. . . .  Two angels come to me.  They draw near. . . .  How beautiful they are!  I see God!”

She uttered a joyful sigh, and her head fell back motionless on the pillow.  Thais was dead.

Paphnutius held her in a last despairing embrace; his eyes devoured her with desire, rage, and love.

Albina cried to him—­