Strong as Death

“Return soon, above all things, return soon!”

“I will take you in my coupe,” said the doctor to the Count. “It will bring you back quicker. You will be here again in an hour.”

Before leaving, the doctor again carefully examined the wounded man, to assure himself that his condition remained satisfactory.

Guilleroy still hesitated.

“You do not think that we are doing anything imprudent?” he asked.

“No,” said the doctor. “He needs only rest and quiet. Madame de Guilleroy will see that he does not talk, and will speak to him as little as possible.”

The Countess was startled, and said:

“Then I must not talk to him?”

“Oh, no, Madame! Take an armchair and sit beside him. He will not feel that he is alone and will be quite content; but no fatigue of words, or even of thoughts. I will call about nine o’clock to-morrow morning. Good-bye, Madame. I salute you!”

He left the room with a low bow, followed by the Count who repeated:

“Do not worry yourself, my dear. Within an hour I shall return, and then you can go home.”

When they were gone, she listened for the sound of the door below being closed, then to the rolling wheels of the coupe in the street.

The valet and the cook still stood there, awaiting orders. The Countess dismissed them.

“You may go now,” said she; “I will ring if I need anything.”

They too withdrew, and she remained alone with him.

She had drawn quite near to the bed, and putting her hands on the two edges of the pillow, on both sides of that dear face, she leaned over to look upon it. Then, with her face so close to his that she seemed to breathe her words upon it, she whispered:

“Did you throw yourself under that carriage?”

He tried to smile still, saying: “No, it was that which threw itself upon me.”

“That is not true; it was you.”

“No, I swear to you it was it!”

After a few moments of silence, those instants when souls seem mingled in glances, she murmured: “Oh, my dear, dear Olivier, to think that I let you go, that I did not keep you with me!”

“It would have happened just the same, some day or another,” he replied with conviction.

They still gazed at each other, seeking to read each other’s inmost thoughts.

“I do not believe that I shall recover,” he said at last. “I suffer too much.”

“Do you suffer very much?” she murmured.

“Oh, yes!”

Bending a little lower, she brushed his forehead, then his eyes, then his cheeks with slow kisses, light, delicate as her care for him. She barely touched him with her lips, with that soft little breath that children give when they kiss. This lasted a long time, a very long time. He let that sweet rain of caresses fall on him, and they seemed to soothe and refresh him, for his drawn face twitched less than before.

“Any!” he said finally.

She ceased her kissing to listen to him.

“What, my friend?”

“You must make me a promise.”

“I will promise anything you wish.”

“If I am not dead before morning, swear to me that you will bring Annette to me, just once, only once! I cannot bear to die without seeing her again… Think that.. to-morrow.. at this time perhaps I shall have.. shall surely have closed my eyes forever and that I never shall see you again. I.. nor you.. nor her!”

She stopped him; her heart was breaking.

“Oh, hush.. hush! Yes, I promise you to bring her!”

“You swear it?”

“I swear it, my friend. But hush, do not talk any more. You hurt me frightfully – hush!”

A quick convulsion passed over his face; when it had passed he said:

“Since we have only a few minutes more to remain together, do not let us lose them; let us seize them to bid each other good-by. I have loved you so much – ”

“And I,” she sighed, “how I still love you!”

He spoke again:

“I never have had real happiness except through you. Only these last days have been hard… It was not your fault… Ah, my poor Any, how sad life is!.. and how hard it is to die!”

“Hush, Olivier, I implore you!”

He continued, without listening to her: “I should have been a happy man if you had not had your daughter..”

“Hush! My God! Hush!.”

He seemed to dream rather than speak.

“Ah, he that invented this existence and made men was either blind or very wicked..”

“Olivier, I entreat you.. if you ever have loved me, be quiet, do not talk like that any more!”

He looked at her, leaning over him, she herself so pale that she looked as if she were dying, too; and he was silent.

Then she seated herself in the armchair, close to the bed, and again took the hand on the coverlet.