The Lerouge Case by Émile Gaboriau (best classic books TXT) 📕

he had said he should not be out more than half an hour.

“We will wait for him, then,” said the count.

He advanced; and the servant drew back to let them pass. Noel had strictly forbidden her to admit any visitors; but the Count de Commarin was one of those whose appearance makes servants forget all their orders. Three persons were in the room into which the servant introduced the count and Mademoiselle d’Arlange. They were the parish priest, the doctor, and a tall man, an officer of the Legion of Honour, whose figure and bearing indicated the old soldier. They were conversing near the fireplace, and the arrival of strangers appeared to astonish them exceedingly. In bowing, in response to M. de Commarin’s and Claire’s salutations, they seemed to inquire their business: but this hesitation was brief, for the soldier almost immediately offered Mademoiselle d’Arlange a chair.

The count considered that his presence was inopportune; and he thought that he was called upon to introduce himself, and explain his visit.

“You will excuse me, gentlemen,” said he, “if I am indiscreet. I did not think of being so when I asked to wait for Noel, whom I have the most pressing need of seeing. I am the Count de Commarin.”

At this name, the old soldier let go the back of the chair which he was still holding and haughtily raised his head. An angry light flashed in his eyes, and he made a threatening gesture. His lips moved, as if he were about to speak; but he restrained himself, and retired, bowing his head, to the window. Neither the count nor the two other men noticed his strange behaviour; but it did not escape Claire.

While Mademoiselle d’Arlange sat down rather surprised, the count, much embarrassed at his position, went up to the priest, and asked in a low voice, “What is, I pray, M. l’Abbe; Madame Gerdy’s condition?”

The doctor, who had a sharp ear, heard the question, and approached quickly. 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? He taxed his memory severely; nothing in those withered features, nothing in that distorted face, recalled the beautiful, the adored Valerie of his youth. He did not recognise her.

But she knew him, or rather divined his presence. With supernatural strength, she raised herself, exposing her shoulders and emaciated arms; then pushing away the ice from her forehead, and throwing back her still plentiful hair, bathed with water and perspiration, she cried, “Guy! Guy!”

The count trembled all over. He did not perceive that which immediately struck all the other persons present⁠—the transformation in the sick woman. Her contracted features relaxed, a celestial joy spread over her face, and her eyes, sunken by disease, assumed an expression of infinite tenderness.

“Guy,” said she in a voice heartrending by its sweetness, “you have come at last! How long, O my God! I have waited for you! You cannot think what I have suffered by your absence. I should have died of grief, had it not been for the hope of seeing you again. Who kept you from me? Your parents again? How cruel of them! Did you not