How old was she? She did not know, and thought she was a very little girl. She had no recollection of anything. The big man said: "Why, she has regained consciousness." Little mother began to weep. Then the big man resumed: "Come, be calm, baroness; I can ensure her recovery now. But do not talk to her at all. Let her sleep, let her sleep." Then it seemed to Jeanne that she remained in a state of exhaustion for a long time, overcome by a heavy sleep as soon as she tried to think; and she tried not to remember anything whatever, as though she had a vague fear that the reality might come back to her. Once when she awoke she saw Julien, alone, standing beside her; and suddenly it all came back to her, as if the curtain which hid her past life had been raised. She felt a horrible pain in her heart, and wanted to escape once more. She threw back the coverlets, jumped to the floor and fell down, her limbs being too weak to support her. Julien sprang toward her, and she began to scream for him not to touch her. She writhed and rolled on the floor. The door opened. Aunt Lison came running in with Widow Dentu, then the baron, and finally little mother, puffing and distracted. They put her back into bed, and she immediately closed her eyes, so as to escape talking and be able to think quietly. Her mother and aunt watched over her anxiously, saying: "Do you hear us now, Jeanne, my little Jeanne?" She pretended to be deaf, not to hear them, and did not answer. Night came on and the nurse took up her position beside the bed. She did not sleep; she kept trying to think of things that had escaped her memory as though there were holes in it, great white empty places where events had not been noted down. Little by little she began to recall the facts, and she pondered over them steadily. Little mother, Aunt Lison, the baron had come, so she must have been very ill. But Julien? What had he said? Did her parents know? And Rosalie, where was she? And what should she do? What should she do? An idea came to her--she would return to Rouen and live with father and little mother as in old days. She would be a widow; that's all. Then she waited, listening to what was being said around her, understanding everything without letting them see it, rejoiced at her returning reason, patient and crafty. That evening, at last, she found herself alone with the baroness and called to her in a low tone: "Little Mother!" Her own voice astonished her, it seemed strange. The baroness seized her hands: "My daughter, my darling Jeanne! My child, do you recognize me?" "Yes, little mother, but you must not weep; we have a great deal to talk about. Did Julien tell you why I ran away in the snow?" "Yes, my darling, you had a very dangerous fever." "It was not that, mamma. I had the fever afterward; but did he tell you what gave me the fever and why I ran away?" "No, my dearie." "It was because I found Rosalie in his room."