of the fire, and Charles breathing as he stood upright by her bed.
“Ah! it is but a little thing, death!” she thought. “I shall fall asleep and all will be over.”
She drank a mouthful of water and turned to the wall. The frightful taste of ink continued.
“I am thirsty; oh! so thirsty,” she sighed.
“What is it?” said Charles, who was handing her a glass.
“It is nothing! Open the window; I am choking.”
She was seized with a sickness so sudden that she had hardly time to draw out her handkerchief from under the pillow.
“Take it away,” she said quickly; “throw it away.”
He spoke to her; she did not answer. She lay motionless, afraid that the slightest movement might make her vomit. But she felt an icy cold creeping from her feet to her heart.
“Ah! it is beginning,” she murmured.
“What did you say?”
She turned her head from side to side with a gentle movement full of agony, while constantly opening her mouth as if something very heavy were weighing upon her tongue. At eight o’clock the vomiting began again.
Charles noticed that at the bottom of the basin there was a sort of white sediment sticking to the sides of the porcelain.
“This is extraordinary—very singular,” he repeated.