He was very pleased to have an opportunity to speak to a person as celebrated as the Count de Commarin, and to become acquainted with him. “I fear, sir,” he said, “that she cannot live throughout the day.” The count pressed his hand against his forehead, as though he had felt a sudden pain there. He hesitated to inquire further. After a moment of chilling silence, he resolved to go on. “Does she recognise her friends?” he murmured. “No, sir. Since last evening, however, there has been a great change. She was very uneasy all last night: she had moments of fierce delirium. About an hour ago, we thought she was recovering her senses, and we sent for M. l’Abbe.” “Very needlessly, though,” put in the priest, “and it is a sad misfortune. Her reason is quite gone. Poor woman! I have known her ten years. I have been to see her nearly every week; I never knew a more worthy person.” “She must suffer dreadfully,” said the doctor. Almost at the same instant, and as if to bear out the doctor’s words, they heard stifled cries from the next room, the door of which was slightly open. “Do you hear?” exclaimed the count, trembling from head to foot. Claire understood nothing of this strange scene. Dark presentiments oppressed her; she felt as though she were enveloped in an atmosphere of evil. She grew frightened, rose from her chair, and drew near the count. “She is, I presume, in there?” asked M. de Commarin. “Yes, sir,” harshly answered the old soldier, who had also drawn near. At any other time, the count would have noticed the soldier’s tone, and have resented it. Now, he did not even raise his eyes. He remained insensible to everything. Was she not there, close to him? His thoughts were in the past; it seemed to him but yesterday that he had quitted her for the last time. “I should very much like to see her,” he said timidly. “That is impossible.” replied the old soldier. “Why?” stammered the count. “At least, M. de Commarin,” replied the soldier, “let her die in peace.” The count started, as if he had been struck. His eyes encountered the officer’s; he lowered them like a criminal before his judge. “Nothing need prevent the count’s entering Madame Gerdy’s room,” put in the doctor, who purposely saw nothing of all this. “She would probably not notice his presence; and if--” “Oh, she would perceive nothing!” said the priest. “I have just spoken to her, taken her hand, she remained quite insensible.” The old soldier reflected deeply. “Enter,” said he at last to the count; “perhaps it is God’s will.” The count tottered so that the doctor offered to assist him. He gently motioned him away. The doctor and the priest entered with him; Claire and the old soldier remained at the threshold of the door, facing the bed. The count took three or four steps, and was obliged to stop. He wished to, but could not go further. Could this dying woman really be Valerie?