“'And now I feared that they might meet. What would they do in that case? What would my son do? My mind was torn with fearful doubts, with terrible suppositions.
“'You can understand my feelings, can you not, monsieur? “'My chambermaid, who knew nothing, who understood nothing, came into the room every moment, believing, naturally, that I had lost my reason. I sent her away with a word or a movement of the hand. She went for the doctor, who found me in the throes of a nervous attack.
“'I was put to bed. I had brain fever.
“'When I regained consciousness, after a long illness, I saw beside my bed my—lover—alone.
“'I exclaimed:
“'My son? Where is my son?
“'He made no reply. I stammered:
“'Dead-dead. Has he committed suicide?
“'No, no, I swear it. But we have not found him in spite of all my efforts.
“'Then, becoming suddenly exasperated and even indignant—for women are subject to such outbursts of unaccountable and unreasoning anger—I said: