When they had carried him to the room in the hotel where his mother and
Marie-Anne were waiting in agonized surprise, that irresistible torpor
which follows suffering too intense for human endurance, crept over him.
"Nothing is decided yet," the officers answered in response to Mme.
d'Escorval's questions. "The cure will hasten here as soon as the
verdict is rendered."
Then, as they had promised not to lose sight of Maurice, they seated
themselves in gloomy silence.
The house was silent. One might have supposed the hotel deserted. At
last, a little before four o'clock, the abbe came in, followed by the
lawyer to whom the baron had confided his last wishes.
"My husband!" exclaimed Mme. d'Escorval, springing wildly from her
chair.
The priest bowed his head; she understood.
"Death!" she faltered. "They have condemned him!"
And overcome by the terrible blow, she sank back, inert, with hanging
arms.
But the weakness did not last long; she again sprang up, her eyes
brilliant with heroic resolve.
"We must save him!" she exclaimed.
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