Oh, how hard it is to leave this life of unceasing toil and sorrow!
The eyes still smile feebly. They smile to the last moment.
He speaks no more. He breathes no more. The heart throbs wildly, then
stops dead like a foundered horse.
Mercier is dead. The pupils of his eyes are solemnly distended upon a
glassy abyss. All is over. I have not saved him....
Then from those dead eyes great tears ooze slowly and flow upon his
cheeks. I see his features contract as if to weep throughout eternity.