I lost my hold on the wisp of sentience to which I had been clinging. Weakness overcame me. Sight faded from my eyes, and hearing from my ears. A black opaque veil descended over me, enshrouding me, burying me. I became as one dying, dying ... dead.
* * * * * * * * *
Later, I know not how much later, but after, I think, a long, long time, I came to myself again.
And when I came to myself again, all the life that I had lived before I sank into that deathly slumber, seemed to have receded into a past infinitely, eternally remote, a past more ancient than all the ages.
A pair of cold hands was pressing on my temples. I could feel drops of water trickling down my face. They came from a wet handkerchief that had been drawn tight across my brow. I knew that the Count François was standing in front of me, and that he was working to bring me back to consciousness.
A sigh forced its way through my lips. My eyes opened. I stretched my fingers that had gripped the two arms of my chair....
The count removed his hands from my temples.
He wiped my forehead dry.
He went away.