He looked towards Brown.

At once Brown came near.
"You are a good man.

Your religion is good.

It makes men just and kind.
Ah, religion is a beautiful thing when it makes men just and kind." He turned his eyes upon Jack French, who stood looking down sadly upon him.
"You have been friend to my son," he said.

"You will guide him still ?" French dropped quickly on his knee, took him by the hand and said, "I will be to him a brother." The old man turned his face and said, "Paulina." "She is here," said old Portnoff, "but she can't move." At the sound of his voice, the woman struggled up to her knees, crawled over to his side, the blood flowing from her wound, and taking his hand, held it to her lips.
"Paulina," he said, "you have done well--you are--my wife again--come near me." The woman made an inarticulate moan like some dumb beast, and lifted her face toward him.
"Kiss me," he said.
"Ah, my lord," she cried, sobbing wildly, "my dear lord, I dare not." "Kiss me," he said again.
"Now let me die," she cried, kissing him on the lips, and falling down in a faint beside him.
Brown lifted her and laid her in Portnoff's arms.