‘As I expected,’ thought Exili; ‘his curiosity is aroused.’ ‘It is full late,’ he continued aloud, as the sound of the bell vibrated through the building from the Tour de la Chapelle. ‘To-morrow your excitement will have somewhat abated, and all will be explained. Doubtless your couch will prove a trifle harder than the one you have been accustomed to. Good-night; and may she visit you in your dreams, for you will have little chance here of seeing her otherwise.’
And with this last observation, which had the full effect he intended, the physician turned on his pallet and was soon asleep, or affected to be so.
But it was long before Gaudin slumbered. The events of the evening were in themselves enough to drive anything from his mind, and the last conversation with Exili had added fresh wrath to the mingled blaze of anger, jealousy, and impotent desire of revenge that consumed him. At last the objects in the room imperceptibly faded from his sight, or merged into the strange forms which his half-slumbering senses conjured up; and in this state he lay for upwards of an hour, with a consciousness of existence, but motionless and silent.
Suddenly he awoke—if it could be called awaking from a state that was scarcely a sleep—and cast his eyes across the room towards the bed of his companion. Exili was awake as well. He had raised himself in bed, and, by the light of the lamp which still burned in the chimney-corner, was staring fixedly at Sainte-Croix, with the same riveting gaze he had before directed towards him. It was not the look of human intent—a serpent would have fascinated a bird with the same expression, until the victim fell into its yawning mouth. Gaudin quailed before it—he knew not why; but there was something terrible in the unclosed and glaring eyes of the physician, which almost precluded him from inquiring what he desired.
‘You need not be alarmed,’ replied Exili, in an unconcerned tone. ‘Whatever my wishes might have been towards you yesternight, at all events, you are safe here. I was attracted by that curious bauble hanging round your neck. Where did you get it?’
He directed Sainte-Croix’s attention to a small gold heart, about the size of a walnut, which hung round his neck, and which he had not laid aside in divesting himself of his clothes for the night.
‘It is an amulet,’ said Gaudin, ‘and contains a charm against an evil eye. I have heard it will also yield visions of the future. I never put it on one side.’
As he spoke, he opened the heart in its centre, and took out a crystal of a reddish colour, set in a circle of silver. Exili gazed at it still more earnestly than before.
‘It is a beryl!’ he exclaimed.
‘Eyes less piercing than yours might tell that,’ replied Sainte-Croix. ‘Your fool affected to expose one for sale on the Carrefour du Châtelet but a short time since.’