Évariste Gamelin was worn out and could not rest; twenty times in the
night he would awake with a start from a sleep haunted by nightmares. It
was only in the blue chamber, in Élodie's arms, that he could snatch a
few hours' slumber. He talked and cried out in his sleep and used often
to awake her; but she could make nothing of what he said.
One morning, after a night when he had seen the Eumenides, he started
awake, broken with terror and weak as a child. The dawn was piercing the
window curtains with its wan arrows. Évariste's hair, lying tangled on
his brow, covered his eyes with a black veil; Élodie, by the bedside,
was gently parting the wild locks. She was looking at him now, with a
sister's tenderness, while with her handkerchief she wiped away the icy
sweat from the unhappy man's forehead. Then he remembered that fine
scene in the _Orestes_ of Euripides, which he had essayed to represent
in a picture that, if he could have finished it, would have been his
masterpiece--the scene where the unhappy Electra wipes away the spume
that sullies her brother's lips. And he seemed to hear Élodie also
saying in a gentle voice:
"Hear me, beloved brother, while the Furies leave you master of your
reason ..."
And he thought:
"And yet I am no parricide. Far from it, it is filial piety has made me
shed the tainted blood of the enemies of my fatherland."