"Irene—Irene—I am here," I said, in a low voice.
"Irene—my child—your mother is here also," said Catherine, with an accent of passionate and fearful anxiety impossible to describe.
At first the child did not seem to hear us.
"Irene—it is your friend—it is Arthur and your mother. Do you not hear her?"
"Your mother—mon Dieu! your mother is near you!" repeated Catherine.
This time the child's look no longer wandered. She moved her head suddenly, as if a sound from afar had reached her.
"How is her hand?" inquired the doctor, in a whisper.
"Still cold," I answered.
"Still cold," rejoined the mother.
"That is bad, you are not yet en rapport,—continue."