I would not believe it. I said: “It is a lethargy.” I still hoped. I returned to the salon, told Alice that I was going out, but would soon be back, and ran to the Rue Saint Maur. I had hardly reached there when they brought Charles.
Alas! my beloved Charles! He was dead.
I went to fetch Alice. What despair!
The two children were asleep.
March 14.—I have read again what I wrote on the morning of the 13th about the knocking I heard during the night.
Charles has been laid out in the salon on the ground floor of the house in the Rue Saint Maur. He lies on a bed covered with a sheet which the women of the house have strewn with flowers. Two neighbours, workingmen who love me, asked permission to watch by the body all night. The coroner’s physician, on uncovering the dear dead, wept.
I sent to Meurice a telegram couched in the following terms:
Meurice, 18 Rue Valois—
Appalling misfortune. Charles died this evening, 13th. Sudden stroke of apoplexy. Tell Victor to come back at once.
The Prefect sent this telegram over the official wire.