And quietly—heavily—like an irrevocable sentence, there came, breathed to him as it were from that winter cold and loneliness, words that he had read an hour or two before, in the little red book beside his hand—words in which the gayest of French poets has fixed, as though by accident, the most tragic of all human cries—
'Quittez le long espoir, et les vastes pensées.'
He sank on his knees, wrestling with himself and with the bitter longing for life, and the same words rang through him, deafening every cry but their own.
'Quittez—quittez—le long espoir et les vastes pensées!'
CHAPTER LI
There is little more to tell. The man who had lived so fast was no long time dying. The eager soul was swift in this as in all else.
The day after Elsmere's return from Murewell, where he left the squire still alive (the telegram announcing the death reached Bedford Square a few hours after Robert's arrival), Edmondson came up to see him and examine him. He discovered tubercular disease of the larynx, which begins with slight hoarseness and weakness, and develops into one of the most rapid forms of phthisis. In his opinion it had been originally set up by the effects of the chill at Petites Dalles acting upon a constitution never strong, and at that moment peculiarly susceptible to mischief. And of course the speaking and preaching of the last four months had done enormous harm.
It was with great outward composure that Elsmere received his arrêt de mort at the hands of the young doctor, who announced the result of his examination with a hesitating lip and a voice which struggled in vain to preserve its professional calm. He knew too much of medicine himself to be deceived by Edmondson's optimist remarks as to the possible effect of a warm climate like Algiers on his condition. He sat down, resting his head on his hands a moment; then, wringing Edmondson's hand, he went out feebly to find his wife.
Catherine had been waiting in the dining-room, her whole soul one dry tense misery. She stood looking out of the window taking curious heed of a Jewish wedding that was going on in the square, of the preposterous bouquets of the coachman and the gaping circle of errand-boys. How pinched the bride looked in the north wind!