A few soft murmuring sounds escaped Marietta’s lips, and her fingers moved convulsively.
‘What is it she says,’ cried Louvet, ‘of crime and poison?’
‘Hush! listen.’
‘Examine Comps,’ muttered she; ‘he knows all.’
‘It is Mirabeau’s secretary she speaks of,’ said Louvet, ‘he committed suicide last night.’
‘No; he is not dead, though his wound may prove fatal,’ said Cabanis.
‘He will live,’ said Marietta solemnly, and then seemed to sink into a deep stupor.
‘Yes, trust me, I will tell him,’ cried she suddenly, with a voice as assured and an accent as firm as though awake. ‘Come here and let me whisper it.’
One after another bent down beside the couch, but she repulsed them sharply, and with a half-angry gesture motioned them away.
Madame Roland knelt down and took her hand, but with the same abrupt movement the other pushed her away, muttering, ‘No, not you—not you.’