“No,” said she, “not one. Our life has always passed most tranquilly. You know how people of the world live; well, so we live, and have always lived. My husband is a quiet man, who has never had a quarrel in his life with any one, and has never done an injury that I know of.”
“You have never seen in the baron any anxiety of conscience?”
“Any anxiety of conscience? He? Why should he have any? He has never in his life done anything to reproach himself with.”
“The baron,” replied the doctor, “has the reputation of being benevolent and kind-hearted. I don't think he is naturally very imaginative; do you, madame?”
“Not at all, doctor. I think he is just the contrary. I can even say he has very little faith.”
“But when and where did you first perceive the commencement of this mania?”
“It was one day when nothing strange had happened. Some one had been speaking of a young sculptor, who now is very famous. A friend told us that he owed his success to a rich banker, who had discovered his talents by some happy accident, and had aided him with his fortune and influence. When our guests had left, and we were alone, I thought he would kill himself; as now, without the slightest reason.”
“In his daily life does he show any eccentricity of which I am yet ignorant?”
“Not precisely eccentricity,” said Mme. de Brienne. “His tastes have changed very much, but that cannot be called eccentricity. He formerly spent quite a fortune in purchasing pictures, of which he has a very fine collection, that he admired extravagantly; now he never looks at them. But he has always been rather fickle.”
“Does he talk in his sleep?”