The warm blood was mixed with snow until it grew cold and gradually congealed in the veins.

The little door of the heart swung slower and slower upon its hinges, more feebly--more feebly.

And then there came a supreme moment.

The soul of Valentine, with a frantic vehemence, beat down at last its prison door, and, even as his body died, escaped with a cry through the air.
* * * * * "Valentine, did you hear that strange cry ?" * * * * * "Valentine, what was it?
I never heard any sound like that before, so thin and small, and yet so horribly clear and piercing; neither like the cry of a child nor of an animal, nor like the wail that could come from any instrument.

Valentine, now I see a little flame come from where you are sitting.