The past rushed over him like a vast wave.

How many times had he carelessly wounded that heart which had beat solely for him! How many times had he given his word, only to break it! He was alone, alone; death had severed the single tie; he was alone.

Death is kind to the dead, but harsh to the living.

Presently his sighs became less regular, and at length they ceased entirely.
The portiere rustled slightly, and Patty's face became visible.

Her eyes were wet.