Tremorel had approached the bedside.
"You refused to stay upstairs," said he, "you were ungovernable till we had you brought here."
"But don't tire yourself," resumed Hector. "Go to sleep again, and you will be well by to-morrow. And good-night, for I am going to bed now, and shall return and wake your wife at four o'clock."
He went out, and Bertha, having given Sauvresy something to drink, returned to her seat.
"What a friend Tremorel is," murmured she. Sauvresy did not answer this terribly ironical exclamation. He shut his eyes, pretended to sleep, and thought of the letter. What had he done with it? He remembered that he had carefully folded it and put it in the right-hand pocket of his vest. He must have this letter. It would balk his vengeance, should it fall into his wife's hands; and this might happen at any moment. It was a miracle that his valet had not put it on the mantel, as he was accustomed to do with the things which he found in his master's pockets. He was reflecting on some means of getting it, of the possibility of going up to his bedroom, where his vest ought to be, when Bertha got up softly. She came to the bed and whispered gently:
"Clement, Clement!"
He did not open his eyes, and she, persuaded that he was sleeping, though very lightly, stole out of the room, holding her breath as she went.
"Oh, the wretch!" muttered Sauvresy, "she is going to him!"
At the same time the necessity of recovering the letter occurred to him more vividly than ever.
"I can get to my room," thought he, "without being seen, by the garden and back-stairs. She thinks I'm asleep; I shall get back and abed before she returns."