"No, don't do that. I would much rather come to see you…."
But she did not come again for a long time. One evening he heard by accident that she was seriously ill, and had not been acting for some weeks. He went to see her, although she had forbidden it. She was not at home: but when she heard who it was, she sent and had him brought back as he was going down the stairs. She was in bed, but much better: she had had pneumonia, and looked altered: but she still had her ironical manner and her watchful expression, which there was no disarming. However, she seemed to be really pleased to see Christophe. She made him sit by her bedside, and talked about herself in a mocking, detached way, and said that she had almost died. He was much moved, and showed it. Then she teased him. He reproached her for not having let him know.
"Let you know? And have you coming to see me? Never!"
"I bet you never even thought of me."
"You've won," she said, with her sad little mocking smile. "I didn't think of you for a moment while I was ill. To be precise, I never thought of you until to-day. There's nothing to be glum about, come. When I am ill I don't think of anybody. I only ask one thing of people; to be left alone in peace. I turn my face to the wall and wait: I want to be alone. I want to die alone, like a rat in a hole."
"And yet it is hard to suffer alone."
"I'm used to it. I have been unhappy for years. No one ever came to my assistance. Now it has become a habit…. Besides, it is better so. No one can do anything for you. A noise in the room, worrying attentions, hypocritical jeremiads…. No; I would rather die alone."
"You are very resigned!"
"Resigned? I don't even know what the word means. No: I set my teeth and
I hate the illness which makes me suffer."
He asked her if she had no one to see her, no one to look after her. She said that her comrades at the theater were kind enough,—idiots,—but obliging and compassionate (in a superficial sort of way).