Madame Sauviat went out, unable to bear those words.
“Aline,” she said, “she will speak! she will speak!”
“Ah! madame is out of her mind,” cried the faithful maid, who was bringing sheets. “Fetch the rector, madame.”
“Your mistress must be undressed,” said Bianchon to the maid.
“It will be very difficult to do it, monsieur; madame is wrapped in a hair-cloth garment.”
“What! in the nineteenth-century can such horrors be revived?” said the great doctor.
“Madame Graslin has never allowed me to touch her stomach,” said Roubaud. “I have been able to judge of the progress of the disease only from her face and her pulse, and the little information I could get from her mother and the maid.”
Veronique was now placed on a sofa while the bed was being made. The doctors spoke together in a low voice. Madame Sauviat and Aline made the bed. The faces of the two women were full of anguish; their hearts were wrung by the thought, “We are making her bed for the last time—she will die here!”
The consultation was not long. But Bianchon exacted at the outset that Aline should, in spite of the patient’s resistance, cut off the hair shirt and put on a night-dress. The doctors returned to the salon while this was being done. When Aline passed them carrying the instrument of torture wrapped in a napkin, she said:—
“Madame’s body is one great wound.”