"No," said Sernine. "That also was real."
"What are you saying? What are you saying? . . . Oh, no, no! . . . I entreat you! . . . Wake me, if I am asleep . . . or else let me die! . . . But I am dead, am I not? And this is the nightmare of a corpse! . . . Oh, I feel my brain going! . . . I entreat you. . . ."
Sernine placed his hand gently on the young man's head and, bending over him:
"Listen to me . . . listen to me carefully and understand what I say. You are alive. Your matter and your mind are as they were and live. But Gérard Baupré is dead. You understand me, do you not? That member of society who was known as Gérard Baupré has ceased to exist. You have done away with that one. To-morrow, the registrar will write in his books, opposite the name you bore, the word 'Dead,' with the date of your decease."
"It's a lie!" stammered the terrified lad. "It's a lie! Considering that I, Gérard Baupré, am here!"
"You are not Gérard Baupré," declared Sernine. And, pointing to the open door, "Gérard Baupré is there, in the next room. Do you wish to see him? He is hanging from the nail to which you hooked him. On the table is a letter in which you certify his death with your signature. It is all quite regular, it is all final. There is no getting away from the irrevocable, brutal fact: Gérard Baupré has ceased to exist!"
The young man listened in despair. Growing calmer, now that facts were assuming a less tragic significance, he began to understand:
"And then . . ." he muttered.
"And then . . . let us talk."
"Yes, yes . . . let us talk. . . ."