two most cruel enemies. He said that he had
taken cold, and would go to bed. Bertha insisted in vain that he
should take at least a bowl of broth and a glass of claret.

"Really," said he, "I don't feel well."

When he had retired, Bertha said:

"Did you notice, Hector?"

"What?"

"Something unusual has happened to him."

"Very likely, after being all day in the rain."

"No. His eye had a look I never saw before."

"He seemed to be very cheerful, as he always is."

"Hector, my husband suspects!"

"He? Ah, my poor good friend has too much confidence in us to think
of being jealous."

"You deceive yourself, Hector; he did not embrace me when he came
in, and it is the first time since our marriage."

Thus, at the very first, he had made a blunder. He knew it well;
but it was beyond his power to embrace Bertha at that moment; and
he was suffering more than he thought he should. When his wife and
his friend ascended to his room, after dinner, they found him
shivering under the sheets, red, his forehead burning, his throat
dry, and his eyes shining with an unusual brilliancy. A fever soon
came on, attended by delirium. A doctor was called, who at first
said he would not answer for him. The next day he was worse. From
this time both Hector and Bertha conceived for him the most tender
devotion. Did they think they should thus in some sort expiate
their crime? It is doubtful. More likely they tried to impose on
the people about them; everyone was anxious for Sauvresy. They
never deserted him for a moment, passing the night by turns near
his bed. And it was painful to watch over him; a furious delirium
never left him. Several times force had to be used to keep him on
the bed; he tried to throw himself out of the window. The third
day he had a strange fancy; he did not wish to stay in his chamber.
He kept crying out:

"Carry me away from here, carry me away from here."

The doctor advised that he should be humored; so a bed was made up
for him in a little room on the ground-floor, overlooking the garden.
His wanderings did not betray anything of his suspicions; perhaps
the firm will was able even to control the delirium. The fever
finally yielded on the ninth day. His breathing became calmer, and
he slept. When he awoke, reason had returned. That was a frightful
moment. He had, so to speak, to take up the burden of his misery.
At first he thought it the memory of a horrid night-mare; but no.
He had not dreamed.