We followed the winding avenue of the woods, and soon came upon the arbour, covered with glycynia, where she had waited for me with Irene the first day of my arrival at the Grove.
I know not whether it was emotion, or fatigue, or indisposition, but Catherine complained of feeling tired, and seated herself on a bench.
The sun had just set; the sky was covered with clouds, gilded by the last rays of the sun. Almost continuously the entire hemisphere was illumined with vivid flashes of summer lightning, which Irene watched with a curious and tranquil air.
Catherine did not speak, and seemed deeply absorbed.
Twilight had begun to darken the woods, when Irene, who was resting on her nurse's lap, fell asleep.
"Madame," said Madame Paul, "Mlle. Irene is falling asleep, and the doctor was very particular that she should not be exposed to the damp evening air."
"Let us go home," said Catherine, as she rose.
She felt so weak that she leaned on my arm with her whole weight.
We walked a few steps, but very slowly; Madame Paul was in front with Irene.
Suddenly I felt Catherine giving way, and she said, in a broken voice, "I cannot take another step, I am prostrated."