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.