“Perhaps not for hours, possibly a day; perhaps in half an hour—a few minutes. Were she to sit up in bed, she would expire as if shot.”
“Ah, well, we must face it. You will come in again? Oh, my God!”
“I will come in this evening. My dear child,” continued the doctor, taking the great arm of Garnier in his thin hand, “I would stay if I could be of use; I can only leave her to you. No, I would not trouble her with a priest; she is, I am afraid, delirious.”
Garnier returned to the bedroom, a look of terrible perplexity on his face. He could not grasp the facts. Full of life and strength, he had never troubled to think of death, it was all so remote; and here it was grasping Célestin.
She was semi-conscious again, and the one word kept repeating itself on her lips, “Désiré, Désiré!” It was like a person crying for water.
“Oh, why does he not come?” murmured Garnier, remembering again of a sudden the existence of Toto and his long absence.
“He is coming,” he murmured, holding her hand; “he will be here in a little while. Oh, my dear little Célestin, what can I give you—what can I do for you?”
He saw the bunch of grapes, and plucked one off and held it to her lips. She sucked it feebly, and then cast her eyes up to heaven in the old familiar way, an action that tore Garnier’s heart as if a knife had ripped it up. Then she seemed to forget Toto, for she lay still, and the man beside her prayed God to send him quickly, for nothing could be more frightful than her reiterated request for this man who had gone away.
He did not feel jealous; it was all one now. She wanted Toto. It was as if she had wanted water to drink; he would not have felt jealous of the water, so why should he feel jealous of Toto? He would have given his whole prospects in life for the return of the Prince.