“And him … him, that very boy … they are going to destroy! …”
She jumped up, pushing away the table, and tore herself from the doctor; but on reaching the door she again sank on to a chair.
“And they say there is a God! … What God is He, if He allows it? … May the devil take Him, that God!” she screamed, now sobbing, now breaking into hysterical laughter. “To hang him … who gave up all—his whole career, all his property—to others … gave it all to the people! …” She, who had formerly reproached her son for this, was now speaking of his self-abnegation as a merit. “And him—him … they will do it to him! … And you say there is a God!” she cried.
“But I do not say anything: I only ask you to take these drops.”
“I want nothing. … Ha, ha, ha!” she laughed and sobbed, beside herself with despair.
Towards night she was so exhausted with suffering that she could neither speak nor weep, but only stared in front of her with a fixed, insane gaze. The doctor injected morphia, and she fell asleep.
It was a dreamless sleep, but the awakening was worse than what had gone before. What appeared most terrible was that people could be so cruel: not only those dreadful Generals with their shaved cheeks, and the gendarmes, but everybody, everybody: the maid who came to do the room, with her quiet face, and the people in the next room, who greeted one another cheerfully, and laughed as if nothing had happened.