"To my infinite regret," was Firmin's reply. "I would much rather have seen you play it; it would have been a study for me and I should have learnt a lesson from it."
"It is but a poor play," said Talma, "although there is a fine scene in the fifth act, where, in the hope of restoring reason to the poor madman, people tell him of the honours that are being prepared for him and of the crown awaiting him. And, as you are aware, Firmin, at the word couronne he seems to realise what is being said to him. 'A crown for me!' he exclaims. 'If that be so, Alphonse will no longer refuse me his sister!... Where is this crown? Where is it?' Then, when they show it him, he looks at it and says sorrowfully, 'It is not a golden crown, only a laurel wreath ... the brother will never give his consent!' Listen, Firmin," said Talma; "this is how I should play it...."
And, sitting half up in his bed, he went through the scene in such telling accents, and with such pathetic and dejected expression, filled throughout with both despair and insanity, that Firmin, who knew nothing but what he had just seen, felt inclined to throw up the part.
Towards the beginning of October, the improvement which had somewhat restored hope disappeared, and the disease made such rapid progress that Talma himself expressed a desire to see those whom he loved best, whose occupations placed them at a distance from him. Among these was his nephew, Amédée Talma, a surgeon-dentist at Brussels. He arrived on 9 October, and never left his uncle till the end. After the sick man had been prepared for this visitor, Amédée Talma entered the room and went up to his uncle's bedside. Talma held out his hand, drew him close and kissed him. It was dark, but the young man saw by the dampness of his uncle's cheek that he was weeping. The sick man, however, soon recovered himself, and, after a moment's pause, he said—
"You must not stay here more than two or three days. Your business will not admit of longer absence. I sent for you because you have known for a long time the disease I am suffering from, and my doctors wish to learn what you can tell them about it before they were called in."
A fresh consultation was therefore held on the 12th, at which the young doctor was present. Only two or three out of the eleven medical men present thought there was any hope. Still, the new remedies suggested allayed the attacks of vomiting, and these ceased altogether towards the end. When the doctors came to his bedside, Talma said to them—
"Well, is it all up? I will do anything you desire ... but I doubt if you can pull me through, and I have reconciled myself to the inevitable. But the thing that troubles me most and what I want you to care for most is my eyesight: I am afraid I am going to lose my sight."
Another of Talma's nephews, named Charles Jeannin, arrived from Brussels on the 16th. The greatest precautions were necessary in breaking the news of this fresh visitor to Talma. Nothing that went on round him escaped his notice. MM. Dupuytren, Biett and Begin were standing by the fireplace talking in low voices, when Talma caught a word or two of their conversation.
"What are you talking about?" he asked.
M. Dupuytren did not answer him, but went up to Amédée Talma. "I was asking these gentlemen," he said to the young man, "whether Talma had been told of the archbishop's visits."