ten o’clock
The next morning they found her there , dying . The lamp had just gone out of itself , at the dawn of day , and everything in the chamber was of a triumphal whiteness . Angelique was dying . It was ten o'clock one cold morning towards the end of the winter , the air was sharp , and the clear heavens were brightened up by the beautiful sunshine . In her great royal bed , draped with its old , faded , rose-coloured chintz , she lay motionless , having been unconscious during the whole night . Stretched upon her back , her little ivory-like hands carelessly thrown upon the sheet , she no longer even opened her eyes , and her finely-cut profile looked more delicate than ever under the golden halo of her hair ; in fact , anyone who had seen her would have thought her already dead , had it not been for the slight breathing movement of her lips . The day before , Angelique , realising that she was very ill , had confessed , and partaken of the Communion .