“Does she recognise her friends?” he murmured.
“No, sir. Since last evening, however, there has been a great change. She was very uneasy all last night: she had moments of fierce delirium. About an hour ago, we thought she was recovering her senses, and we sent for M. l’Abbe.”
“Very needlessly, though,” put in the priest, “and it is a sad misfortune. Her reason is quite gone. Poor woman! I have known her ten years. I have been to see her nearly every week; I never knew a more worthy person.”
“She must suffer dreadfully,” said the doctor.
Almost at the same instant, and as if to bear out the doctor’s words, they heard stifled cries from the next room, the door of which was slightly open.
“Do you hear?” exclaimed the count, trembling from head to foot.
Claire understood nothing of this strange scene. Dark presentiments oppressed her; she felt as though she were enveloped in an atmosphere of evil. She grew frightened, rose from her chair, and drew near the count.
“She is, I presume, in there?” asked M. de Commarin.
“Yes, sir,” harshly answered the old soldier, who had also drawn near.
At any other time, the count would have noticed the soldier’s tone, and have resented it. Now, he did not even raise his eyes. He remained insensible to everything. Was she not there, close to him? His thoughts were in the past; it seemed to him but yesterday that he had quitted her for the last time.