s, but she felt it.

"And it was more terrible, a hundred times more terrible, when she had
disappeared. There seemed to be a battle raging in Rovere's brain, as
between his will and his weakness. Standing upright, striving not to
give way, struggling to concentrate all his brain power in his effort to
remember, to find some trace of the hidden place where he had foolishly
put his fortune, between the leaves of some huge book. Rovere called
violently, ardently to his aid his last remnant of strength to combat
against this anaemia which took away the memory of what he had done. He
rolled his eyes desperately, found nothing, remembered nothing.

"It was awful--this combat against memory, which disappeared, fled; this
aspect of a panting beast, a hunted boar which seemed to seize this
man--and I shivered when, with a rage, I shall never forget, the dying
man rushed, in two steps, to the table, bent over the papers, snatched
them up with his thin hands, crumpled them up, tore them in two and
threw them under his feet, with an almost maniacal laugh, saying in
strident tones:

"'Ah! Decorations! Brevets, baubles! Childish foolishness! What good are
they? Would they give her a living?'

"And he kept on laughing. He excited himself over the papers, which he
stamped under his feet until he had completely exhausted himself. He
gasped, 'I stifle!' and he half fell over the lounge, upon which I laid
him. I fully believed that he was dying. I experienced a horrible
sensation, which was agonizing. He revived, however. But how, after that
swoon and that crisis, could I speak to him again of his daughter, of
that which he wished to leave her, to give, in trust, to me? He became
preoccupied with childish things, returning to the dreams of a rich man;
he spoke of going out the next day. We would go together in the Bois. We
would dine at the Pavilion. He would like to travel. And thus he rambled
on.

"I said to myself, 'Wait! Let us wait! To-morrow, after a good night's
sleep, he will perhaps remember. I surely have some days before me. To
speak to him to-day would be to provoke a new crisis.'

"And I helped him to put back in the safe the crushed, torn papers,
without his asking me, or even himself questioning how they had come
there, who had thrown them on the floor, or who had opened the safe. His
face wore a slight smile, his gestures were automatic. Very weary, he at
last said:

"'I am very tired. I would like to sleep.' I le