"Oh! no," answered Sanselme, eagerly, "but you are very tired, and some one must stay with her to-night."
He spoke with a certain hesitation, as if he were telling a falsehood. The girl was too innocent to notice this manner.
"If my mother wakes you will call me. Poor mamma! she is so kind."
"I will call you, I give you my word," Sanselme answered.
And the girl left the room, and in some ten minutes Sanselme heard her regular breathing; tired Nature asserted herself.
Then he turned to the bed. From the rooms below came shrill laughter and the rattle of glasses. They cared little down there whether this poor creature lived or died. She was dying, of this Sanselme felt sure. He began to walk up and down the room, occasionally stopping at the side of the bed, as if seeking to discover in this pale, drawn face some forgotten image.
It was very cold, and the light was dim; by degrees the house became quiet. He sat in the one chair in the room buried in thought. Suddenly the sick woman began to toss on her bed. He went to her, and said, gently, "Are you in pain?"
"No."
"Then try to sleep."
"Sleep!" repeated the poor creature, and then, without any apparent reason, she said to herself, over and over again, "Accursed! Accursed!"