When they reached the second door the doctor put his ear to the keyhole.
“Is your patient in there, doctor?”
“No, madame, or you would have heard him at the end of the corridor. Even here you can hear his voice.”
“He groans.”
“No, he speaks loud and distinct.”
“But I cannot go in to him.”
“I do not mean you to do so. I only wish you to listen in the adjoining room, where you will hear without being seen.” They went on, and the doctor entered the sick-room alone.
Charny, still dressed in his uniform, was making fruitless efforts to rise, and was repeating to himself his interview with the German lady in the coach. “German!” he cried—“German! Queen of France!”
“Do you hear, madame?”
“It is frightful,” continued Charny, “to love an angel, a woman—to love her madly—to be willing to give your life for her; and when you come near her, to find her only a queen—of velvet and of gold, of metal and of silk, and no heart.”