He could not recognize these distorted features, this face swollen and discolored by poison, these eyes which were almost concealed by the purple swelling around them.
When Jean and the priest entered the room they found him standing with head thrown back, eyes dilated with terror, and rigid arm extended toward the corpse.
“Maurice,” said the priest, gently, “be calm. Courage!”
He turned with an expression of complete bewilderment upon his features.
“Yes,” he faltered, “that is what I need—courage!”
He staggered; they were obliged to support him to an arm-chair.
“Be a man,” continued the priest; “where is your energy? To live, is to suffer.”
He listened, but did not seem to comprehend.
“Live!” he murmured, “why should I desire to live since she is dead?”
The dread light of insanity glittered in his dry eyes. The abbe was alarmed.