All her courage, energy, and resolution fell, so much did those hollow and altered features resemble those of a dying man. He, whom she had seen only a little while ago, had become this thing, this specter! “Oh, my God!” she murmured between her teeth, and she approached him, palpitating with horror.
He tried to smile, to reassure her, and the grimace of that attempt was frightful.
When she was beside the bed, she put both hands gently on one of Olivier's, which lay along his body, and stammered: “Oh, my poor friend!”
“It is nothing,” said he, in a low tone, without moving his head.
She now looked at him closely, frightened at the change in him. He was so pale that he seemed no longer to have a drop of blood under his skin. His hollow cheeks seemed to have been sucked in from the interior of his face, and his eyes were sunken as if drawn by a string from within.
He saw the terror of his friend, and sighed: “Here I am in a fine state!”
“How did it happen?” she asked, looking at him with fixed gaze.
He was making a great effort to speak, and his whole face twitched with pain.
“I was not looking about me—I was thinking of something else—something very different—oh, yes!—and an omnibus knocked me down and ran over my abdomen.”
As she listened she saw the accident, and shaking with terror, she asked: “Did you bleed?”