“Oh, Monsieur le capitaine, you are telling us nothing we do not know, believe me, Sir. And rather, pray excuse the generous liberty I am taking in laughing at an affair such as yours and hers. I date from very long ago; and in my day, we were not so particular about secrecy in such matters. Let us pass on, pass on. I see that I have hurt your feelings by my inopportune mirth. No offense, I assure you. Let us forget that whole side of the subject. You ask to interview Madame de X.... Nothing, in fact, would be easier; but unfortunately, Madame de X.... was feeling very tired, and went to bed, not long ago. She must now be in her first sleep; and I know you are far too much of a gentleman to disturb a lady under such conditions—to mention only the first of many obstacles to your satisfaction.”
He was making fun of me; and my face burned hot with anger.
“I insist,” said I, mastering my indignation. “I promise further not to disturb Madame de X.... if her first sleep is as deep and peaceful as you assert. But I insist on seeing her—and I have a right to, I should say, a right which I am certain you will not dispute.”
At last the smile faded from the Marquis Gaspard’s face. His eyes settled upon me searchingly, as he replied in an earnest voice:
“Monsieur le capitaine, you are, rest quite assured, in a position to ask everything in this house, without finding anything denied you. Will you follow me!”
He arose, walked to the door, opened it, and stepped across the reception hall. I followed in his footsteps in nervous astonishment. The other two men also rose and came along behind me.
“Monsieur,” said the marquis softly, “you are now able to understand, I trust, why you were several times requested to make no noise in your apartment, which is so close to this one....”
I had guessed rightly, from the first. It was the room behind the door with the three long thick bolts, from under which the perfume so familiar to my nostrils had come—the fragrance of muguet, of lilies-of-the-valley. And it was just such a room as I had imagined later—a naked, sparsely furnished chamber like the one they had given to me; and the same bed with fine sheets and silken coverlets.
On that bed Madeleine was lying, her eyes closed, her lips white, her cheeks a leaden gray. They had told me the truth, also. She was asleep, deeply, too deeply, sunk in slumber, a strange, bloodless, icy slumber, nearer to death, perhaps, than to life.
“Monsieur will be mindful strictly of his promise,” cautioned the Marquis Gaspard. “You have satisfied yourself that Madame is sleeping, soundly sleeping. I may add that she is so greatly fatigued that the shock of a sudden awakening might be fatal to her....”