Then, impatient, nervous, she kicked the door, and heard a sleepy voice asking: “Who is there? What time is it?”
“It is I,” she called. “I have an urgent letter for you, brought by a cabman. There has been some accident.”
“Wait! I am getting up. I'll be there,” he stammered from behind his bed-curtains.
In another minute he appeared in his dressing-gown. At the same time two servants came running, aroused by the ringing of the bell. They were alarmed and bewildered, having seen a stranger sitting on a chair in the dining-room.
The Count had taken the letter and was turning it over in his fingers, murmuring: “What is that? I cannot imagine.”
“Well, read it, then!” said the Countess, in a fever.
He tore off the envelope, unfolded the paper, uttered an exclamation of amazement, then looked at his wife with frightened eyes.
“My God! what is it?” said she.
He stammered, hardly able to speak, so great was his emotion: “Oh, a great misfortune—a great misfortune! Bertin has fallen under a carriage!”
“Dead?” she cried.