"I think he is waking, madame," whispered the peasant woman, for Onésime had just made a slight movement and uttered a deep sigh. Suzanne peeped in again, and, seeing that Onésime was not asleep, she said to the peasant: "Go down and get your dinner. I will ring for you when I want you." The nurse left the room, and Suzanne seated herself in the chair the woman had just vacated. On hearing his aunt's voice, Onésime looked greatly relieved; and when he saw her seat herself near him, he exclaimed: "So you have come at last! How glad I am!" "I heard you sigh just now, my dear boy, so you must still be suffering just as much or more, I fear." "No; I feel much better." "You are not saying that merely to reassure me, I hope." "Take hold of my hand. You know how hot it was awhile ago." "Yes, it is much cooler now, I see. And your wound, does it still trouble you much?" "I have a little difficulty in breathing, that is all. The wound itself doesn't amount to much." "Good Heavens! so a wound in the breast from a dagger is nothing, is it?" "My dear aunt--" "What do you want?" "How is Mlle. Sabine?" "Everybody is well, very well, as I've told you before." "And M. Cloarek?" "There is no use in asking me so many questions. I sha'n't answer them. By and by, when you are really better, it will be different." "Listen, aunt. You refuse to answer me for fear of agitating me too much, but I swear to you that the uncertainty I am in concerning Mlle. Sabine and M. Cloarek makes me miserable." "Everybody is getting on very well, I tell you." "No, aunt, no, that is impossible, after the terrible and still inexplicable occurrence that--" "But, my dear nephew, I assure you--Come, come, don't be so impatient. Can't you be a little more reasonable? Calm yourself, Onésime, I beg of you!" "Is it my fault? Why will you persist in keeping me in such a state of suspense?" "Don't I keep telling you that everybody is well?" "But I tell you that is impossible," exclaimed the young man, excitedly. "What! do you mean to tell me that Mlle. Sabine, who starts and trembles at the slightest sound, could see her home invaded by a furious band of armed men, without sustaining a terrible, perhaps fatal, shock?" "But, Onésime, listen to me--" "Who knows but she may be dead, dead, and you are concealing it from me? You think you are acting for the best, aunt, but you are mistaken. The truth, no matter how terrible it may be, will do me much less harm than this state of frightful uncertainty. Sleeping and waking, I am a prey to the most terrible fears. I would a hundred times rather be dead than live in this state of suspense." "Listen, then, but promise to be reasonable and have courage." "Courage? Ah, I knew that some terrible calamity had occurred." "Dear me! I knew it would be just this way whatever I said or did!" cried poor Suzanne. "You see yourself that at the very first word I say to you--" "Oh, my God! I had a presentiment of it. She is dead!"