She remained silent, stupefied, as if by a blow on the head.
"Shall we enter?" repeated George, shaking her, and attempting to dissimulate his own anxiety.
He would have liked to ask, also: "Of what are you thinking?" But he did not dare. He saw in Hippolyte's eyes such profound sadness that he felt his heart oppressed and a choking sensation in his throat. Then, the suspicion that this silence and stupor might be the precursors of an imminent attack filled him with a sort of panicky terror.
Without reflection, he stammered:
"Are you ill?"
These anxious words, which were a confession of his suspicion, which revealed his secret fear, increased still more the trouble of the two lovers.
"No, no," she said, with a visible shudder, benumbed with horror, and pressed close to George, that he might defend her from the peril.
Hemmed in by the mob, dismayed, disgusted, miserable like the others, as needful of pity and help as the rest, crushed like the others beneath the weight of their mortal flesh, both, for a moment, felt in veritable communion with the multitude in the midst of which they trembled and suffered; both, for a moment, forgot in the immensity of human sorrow the limits of their souls.
It was Hippolyte who was the first to turn towards the church, towards the great portal, towards that veil of bluish smoke through which, by turns, scintillated and disappeared the little flames of the wax tapers.
"Let us go in," she said, in a choking voice, without leaving George's side.