"Alas! madame," said the servant, sustaining Marie as the poor woman got into bed, "you are shivering, you are frozen."
"To-night," replied the young mother, with a failing voice, "feeling myself in pain I tried to rise to ring for you. I had not the strength, I was ill, and just this moment I dragged myself to the chimney to call you, and I—"
The young woman did not finish; her teeth clashed together, her head fell back, and she fainted.
Marguerite, frightened at the responsibility resting on her, and losing her presence of mind entirely, cried, as she ran to Frederick's chamber:
"Monsieur, monsieur! get up! madame is very ill." Then, returning to Marie, she cried, kneeling down by the bed:
"My God! what must I do, what must I do?"
At the end of a few moments Frederick, having put on his dressing-gown, came out of his chamber.
Imagine his agony at the sight of his mother,—pale, inanimate, and from time to time writhing under a convulsive chill.
"Mother," cried Frederick, kneeling in despair by Marie's pillow. "Mother, answer me, what is the matter?"
"Alas! M. Frederick," said Marguerite, sobbing, "madame is unconscious. What shall I do, my God, what shall I do?"