He leant towards the doctor’s ear, and in a trembling voice asked: “Well, is she at all better?”
The doctor shook his head with an air of deep discouragement.
“She is much worse,” he replied: “since morning bad symptoms have succeeded each other with frightful rapidity.”
He checked himself. The advocate had seized his arm and was pressing it with all his might. Madame Gerdy stirred a little, and a feeble groan escaped her.
“She heard you,” murmured Noel.
“I wish it were so,” said the doctor; “It would be most encouraging. But I fear you are mistaken. However, we will see.” He went up to Madame Gerdy, and, whilst feeling her pulse, examined her carefully; then, with the tip of his finger, he lightly raised her eyelid.
The eye appeared dull, glassy, lifeless.
“Come, judge for yourself; take her hand, speak to her.”
Noel, trembling all over, did as his friend wished. He drew near, and, leaning over the bed, so that his mouth almost touched the sick woman’s ear, he murmured: “Mother, it is I, Noel, your own Noel. Speak to me, make some sign, do you hear me, mother?”
It was in vain; she retained her frightful immobility. Not a sign of intelligence crossed her features.