Thereupon Ambroisine told her friend of the events of the previous night, taking pains, however, not to make the count's wound appear so serious as the surgeon had declared it to be.
But Bathilde did not give her time to finish her story; she had already risen and was dressing in great haste, saying, in a voice broken by the emotion that choked her utterance:
"He is here, mon Dieu! here—so near me—since last night—and I was not told! And you left me in ignorance of his suffering!—Oh! that was wrong—very wrong! is it not my duty to be with my husband when he needs care?"
"Our duty was to follow the orders of the surgeon; he said that the slightest excitement would be fatal to monsieur le comte."
"Mon Dieu! then he is very ill!"
"Remember that he does not know as yet where he has been taken; and if he sees you by his side, if he recognizes you, do you think that it will not excite him?"
"Very well! I will hide myself, I will keep out of sight, he shall not see me!—But I shall see him, I shall know what his condition is, and I shall be able to add my care to that which you give him.—Come, Ambroisine, come!"
But before leaving the room Bathilde stopped to press her lips to her daughter's brow; then, after bidding the faithful Marie to stay with Blanche, she hurried to her husband's apartment.
Léodgard was still in the same condition; the ghastly pallor of his face and his closed eyes gave him the aspect of a dead man; but a faint breath that came from his lips proved that life had not abandoned him.
Bathilde gazed long at the sad spectacle, then fell on her knees beside the bed, and implored heaven to preserve Léodgard's life.