[CHAPTER LXXIII]
When he was deep asleep an hour afterwards, he was woken up by feeling tears flow over his hand. “Oh, it is Mathilde again,” he thought, only half awake. “She has come again, faithful to her tactics of attacking my resolution by her sentimentalism.” Bored by the prospect of this new scene of hackneyed pathos he did not open his eyes. The verses of Belphgor, as he ran away from his wife, came into his mind. He heard a strange sigh. He opened his eyes. It was madame de Rênal.
“Ah, so I see you again before I die, or is it an illusion,” he exclaimed as he threw himself at her feet.
“But, forgive me, madame, you must look upon me as a mere murderer,” he said, immediately, as he recovered himself.
“Monsieur, I have come to entreat you to appeal; I know you do not want to....” her sobs choked her; she was unable to speak.
“Deign to forgive me.”
“If you want me to forgive you,” she said to him, getting up and throwing herself into his arms, “appeal immediately against your death sentence.”
Julien covered her with kisses.