for eight days and nights madame de cambes lay tossing in delirium upon the bed to which she was carried, unconscious, upon learning the terrible news.
her women took care of her, but pompée kept the door; no other than the old servant, as he knelt beside his unhappy mistress's bed, could awake in her a glimmer of reason.
numerous visitors besieged the door; but the faithful squire, as inflexible in carrying out his orders as an old soldier should be, courageously denied admission to all comers, at first from the conviction that any visitor whatsoever would annoy his mistress, and subsequently by order of the physician, who feared the effect of too great excitement.
every morning lenet presented himself at the door, but it was closed to him as to all others. madame la princesse herself appeared there with a large retinue, one day when she had been to call upon poor richon's mother, who lived in a suburb of the city. it was her purpose, aside from her interest in the viscountess, to show perfect impartiality. she came therefore, intending to play the gracious sovereign; but pompée informed her with the utmost respect that he had strict orders from which he could not depart; that all men, even dukes and generals, and all women, even princesses, were included in the terms of his orders, and madame de condé above all others, inasmuch as a visit from her, after what had happened, would be likely to cause a terrible paroxysm.
the princess, who was fulfilling, or thought she was fulfilling, a duty, and asked nothing better than to avoid the interview, did not wait to be told twice, but took her leave with her suite.
on the ninth day claire recovered consciousness; it was noticed that, during her delirium, which lasted eight times twenty-four hours, she wept incessantly; although fever ordinarily dries up the source of tears, hers had ploughed a furrow, so to speak, beneath her eyes, which were surrounded by a circle of red and pale blue, like those of the sublime virgin of rubens.
on the ninth day, as we have said, when it was least expected, and when her attendants were beginning to lose hope, her reason suddenly returned, as if by enchantment; her tears ceased to flow; her eyes gazed about upon her surroundings, and rested with a sad smile upon the maids who had cared for her so zealously, and upon pompée who had so faithfully stood guard at her door. then she lay for some hours, with her head resting on her hand, without speaking, dry-eyed, dwelling upon the same thought, which recurred to her mind again and again with ever-increasing force.
suddenly, without considering whether her strength was commensurate with her determination, she exclaimed:
"dress me."
her women drew near, dumbfounded, and undertook to remonstrate; pompée stepped a short distance into the room and clasped his hands imploringly.
but the viscountess repeated, gently, but firmly:—
"i bade you dress me."
the women made ready to obey. pompée bowed and backed out of the room.
alas! the plump, rosy cheeks were now as pale and thin as those of the dying; her hand, as beautiful as ever, and of as lovely shape, was almost transparent, and lay as white as ivory upon her breast, which put to shame the snowy linen wherein it was enveloped. beneath her skin could be seen the violet veins which told of the exhaustion caused by great suffering. the clothes she had laid aside the day before, so to speak, and which then fitted closely to her slender, graceful form, now fell about her in loose folds.
they dressed her as she wished, but it was a long operation, for she was so weak that thrice she nearly fainted. when she was dressed she walked to the window, but turning sharply away, as if the sight of the sky and the city terrified her, she seated herself at a table, asked for pen and ink, and wrote a note to madame la princesse, soliciting the favor of an audience.
ten minutes after the letter had been despatched by the hand of pompée to its destination, a carriage stopped at the door, and almost immediately madame de tourville was announced.
"was it really you," she cried, "who wrote to madame la princesse requesting an audience."
"yes, madame; will she refuse me?"
"oh! far from it, my dear child; i came hither at once to say to you from her that you know perfectly well that you have no need to request an audience, for you are welcome at any hour of the day or night."
"thanks, madame," said claire, "i will avail myself of the privilege."
"how so?" cried madame de tourville. "do you mean to go out in your present condition?"
"have no fear, madame," replied the viscountess; "i feel perfectly well."
"and you will come?"
"instantly."
"i will go and tell madame la princesse of your purpose."
and madame de tourville went out as she came in, with a ceremonious reverence to the viscountess.
the prospect of this unexpected visit produced, as will readily be understood, great excitement in the little court. the viscountess's plight had aroused an interest as keen as it was widespread, for it was by no means true that madame la princesse's conduct in the late affair was universally approved. curiosity was at its height, therefore; officers, maids of honor, courtiers, thronged to madame de condé's cabinet, hardly able to believe in the promised visit, for it was but the day before that claire's condition was represented to be almost hopeless.
suddenly madame la vicomtesse de cambes was announced.
at the sight of those pallid features, as cold and motionless as marble, the hollow, black-ringed eyes, from which all the life and fire had fled, a murmur of compassion made itself heard in the princess's circle.
claire did not seem to notice it.
lenet, deeply moved, walked forward to meet her, and timidly put out his hand. but claire, without accepting it, walked past him toward madame de condé, whom she saluted with noble dignity. she walked the whole length of the apartment with firm step, although she was so pale that she thought every moment that she would fall.
the princess, herself intensely excited and deathly pale, watched claire's approach with a feeling resembling terror; nor had she the strength to conceal the feeling, which was plainly depicted on her face.
"madame," said the viscountess in a grave voice, "i have requested this audience which your highness is pleased to grant me, in order to ask you, in the face of all, if you have been content with my fidelity and devotion since i have had the honor to serve you."
the princess put her handkerchief to her lips, and faltered:—
"most assuredly, my dear viscountess, i have had reason to praise your conduct on all occasions, and i have expressed my gratitude to you more than once."
"that statement is very precious to me, madame, for it permits me to solicit your highness to relieve me from further attendance upon you."
"what!" cried the princess, "you wish to leave me, claire?"
claire bowed respectfully, but made no reply. shame, remorse, or sorrow could be detected upon every face. a deathlike silence pervaded the assembly.
"but why do you leave me?" continued the princess at last.
"i have but a few days to live, madame," replied the viscountess, "and those few days i desire to pass in caring for the welfare of my soul."
"claire, dear claire!" cried the princess, "pray reflect—"
"madame," the viscountess interrupted, "i have two favors to ask at your hands; may i hope that you will grant them?"
"oh! speak, speak!" cried madame de condé, "for i shall be only too happy if i can do aught for you."
"you can, madame."
"what are the favors you wish to ask me?"
"the first is the gift of the abbacy of sainte-radegonde, vacant since the death of madame de montivy."
"you an abbess, my dear child! surely you cannot think of it!"
"the second, madame," continued claire, with a slight trembling in her voice, "is that i may be permitted to inter on my estate at cambes the body of my fiancé, monsieur le baron raoul de canolles, murdered by the the people of bordeaux."
the princess turned away and pressed a trembling hand to her heart. the duc de la rochefoucauld turned pale and lost countenance. lenet opened the door and fled incontinently.
"your highness does not deign to reply," said claire; "do you refuse? perhaps i have asked too much."
madame de condé had only enough strength to nod her head in token of assent, before she fell back in a swoon upon her chair.
claire turned away as unmoved as if she were of stone, and passed majestically from the room through the lane of courtiers, standing with heads bent; not until the door had closed behind her, did they realize that no one had thought of going to madame de condé's assistance.
five minutes later a carriage rolled slowly out of the court-yard; madame de cambes was taking leave of bordeaux.
"what is your highness's decision?" madame de tourville inquired of madame de condé when she came to herself.
"comply with the wishes of madame la vicomtesse de cambes in respect to both the petitions she addressed to us just now, and implore her to forgive us."
