He taxed his memory severely; nothing in those withered features, nothing in that distorted face, recalled the beautiful, the adored Valerie of his youth.  He did not recognise her.

But she knew him, or rather divined his presence.  With supernatural strength, she raised herself, exposing her shoulders and emaciated arms; then pushing away the ice from her forehead, and throwing back her still plentiful hair, bathed with water and perspiration, she cried, “Guy!  Guy!”

The count trembled all over.

He did not perceive that which immediately struck all the other persons present—­the transformation in the sick woman.  Her contracted features relaxed, a celestial joy spread over her face, and her eyes, sunken by disease, assumed an expression of infinite tenderness.

“Guy,” said she in a voice heartrending by its sweetness, “you have come at last!  How long, O my God!  I have waited for you!  You cannot think what I have suffered by your absence.  I should have died of grief, had it not been for the hope of seeing you again.  Who kept you from me?  Your parents again?  How cruel of them!  Did you not tell them that no one could love you here below as I do?  No, that is not it; I remember.  You were angry when you left me.  Your friends wished to separate us; they said that I was deceiving you with another.  Who have I injured that I should have so many enemies!  They envied my happiness; and we were so happy!  But you did not believe the wicked calumny, you scorned it, for are you not here?”

The nun, who had risen on seeing so many persons enter the sick room, opened her eyes with astonishment.

“I deceive you?” continued the dying woman; “only a madman would believe it.  Am I not yours, your very own, heart and soul?  To me you are everything:  and there is nothing I could expect or hope for from another which you have not already given me.  Was I not yours, alone, from the very first?  I never hesitated to give myself entirely to you; I felt that I was born for you, Guy, do you remember?  I was working for a lace maker, and was barely earning a living.  You told me you were a poor student; I thought you were depriving yourself for me.  You insisted on having our little apartment on the Quai Saint-Michel done up.  It was lovely, with the new paper all covered with flowers, which we hung ourselves.  How delightful it was!  From the window, we could see the great trees of the Tuileries gardens; and by leaning out a little we could see the sun set through the arches of the bridges.  Oh, those happy days!  The first time that we went into the country together, one Sunday, you brought me a more beautiful dress than I had ever dreamed of, and such darling little boots, that it was a shame to walk out in them!  But you had deceived me!  You were not a poor student.  One day, when taking my work home, I met you in an elegant carriage, with tall footmen, dressed in liveries covered with gold lace, behind.  I could not believe my eyes.  That evening you told me the truth, that you were a nobleman and immensely rich.  O my darling, why did you tell me?”