I felt a stabbing sensation in my chest. It was as though a knife had been plunged into my heart, digging deeper and deeper in.

"Madame Renaud?"

I looked up at the physician; he was an older gentleman, as evident by his graying hair and beard. Until this moment, I was certain that he would be able to find a form of treatment for Gaspard.

"There is no cure for consumption. You had done what I instructed, taking him to Brittany for the fresh air."

"I would have insisted he stay, Monsieur, but he grew sicker and sicker and then he begged to return to Paris."

I had to pause to collect myself; I could already feel warm tears run down my cheeks.

"He had told me that he wished to die in his own bed. Our bed."

It was then the physician reached over from where he sat across from me and took my hand. Our eyes met, and he seemed just as sad as I did.

"You have done what you could. No one can ask more."

I nodded and wiped my tears with my free hand. "I wish to see him. I must be with him now."

The physician said nothing and released my hand. I stood quickly and strode into the bedroom that Gaspard and I shared.

I had grown use to seeing Gaspard look poorly. But at this moment, I truly took in his appearance; for now, I no longer had the optimism that I had. Now, with his pale skin and tired eyes, Gaspard truly looked as though he was dying.

"Gaspard?" I whispered.

At first, it seemed as though he didn't hear me, he just kept his gaze focused on the ceiling. As I moved closer to the bed, he finally turned his head towards me.

"Marie, you're here." He said, but his voice was hoarse & weak.

"Yes, mon amour (my love), I am here."

With a frail hand, he gestured for me to come closer and I did. As I often as I had done in our 10 years of marriage, I laid my head on top of his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Only now, what was once so strong and steady, had become weak and slow.

"Gaspard, you must not leave me."

"Leave you? I'm laying here, aren't I?"

I raised my head slightly and looked at Gaspard, who was smiling. Although it was hard to tell, with my eyes filling with tears and clouding my vision.

"I know what will soon happen, Marie, but I'm not afraid. There is no reason to fear death. I will be at peace."

"Yes, you will." I took his hand and squeezed it gently. "But I will miss you. You are the most cherished person in my life."

Gaspard used his thumb to brush away my tears, and my vision cleared. Now, I could see clearly that he was indeed smiling. But it was in his eyes that I saw something; it was not sadness or fear. It was concern.

"What troubles you?" I asked.

Gaspard sighed. "Nothing. I am content."

"Gaspard, please tell me. I see that you are worried. When your time comes, I don't..."

Gaspard shushed me and laid his palm against my cheek. I kissed his hand, while my nose inhaled his scent. It was a mixture of soap and yarrow. In spite of knowing what was to come, I could not help but smile at the memory of Gaspard surprising me every morning with red yarrow: my favorite flower in the world.

"If I tell you what troubles me, you will be angry."

"Angry?" I felt my eyes grow wide. "Mon amour, I could not be angry with you. Not now, not ever."

He coughed and blood dripped out of his mouth; I thought quickly and wiped it away with my sleeve. Once it seemed the coughing had ended, Gaspard looked up at me again.

"Do you remember how we met, Marie? You were sixteen at the time, and I was nineteen."

I nodded. "Yes. I was a ballet dancer and you were a painter. One day, when I was dancing, you spoke to me and requested permission to paint my portrait."

"Do you remember why?"

I shrugged. "You had said that you had never seen someone dance as well as I had."

"That was true. You were selected to star in Giselle that year. Afterwards, nothing could stop you. You were famous then."

"That was 12 years ago. I've given up dancing since, to be your wife. Believe me, Gaspard, that is something that I do not regret."

Gaspard brought his hand to my hair and stroked it gently. "That is a mutual feeling, but Marie...When I am gone...You must promise me something."

"Anything."

"Promise me that you'll dance again? That from Heaven, I will look down and see you smile when an audience requests an encore."

"Gaspard-"

"I want to see you happy, Marie! I don't want you to waste your life away behind a closed door and wait to join me. I want you to live and dance."

He had said this with such force, that I was afraid he would work himself into another fit. Not wishing to upset him further and knowing this was his last wish, I managed to nod my head.

"Marie...My beautiful dancer."

With no warning, Gaspard stopped breathing and those eyes, those empty brown eyes, have become engraved in my memory.