“In the state she is in all persons speak with extraordinary perception,” said Bouvard.
“But who is it that Ursula loves?”
“Ursula does not know that she loves,” said the woman with a shake of the head; “she is too angelic to know what love is; but her mind is occupied by him; she thinks of him; she tries to escape the thought; but she returns to it in spite of her will to abstain.—She is at the piano—”
“But who is he?”
“The son of a lady who lives opposite.”
“Madame de Portenduere?”
“Portenduere, did you say?” replied the sleeper. “Perhaps so. But there’s no danger; he is not in the neighbourhood.”
“Have they spoken to each other?” asked the doctor.
“Never. They have looked at one another. She thinks him charming. He is, in fact, a fine man; he has a good heart. She sees him from her window; they see each other in church. But the young man no longer thinks of her.”
“His name?”