Nevertheless, his steps became more irregular; he seemed to walk
by a series of jerks; his teeth chattered; his hands were cold; a
violent agitation ran through his body. I spoke to him; he did
not answer. He was just able to let himself be led along. A cab
was waiting at the gate. It was only just in time. Scarcely had
he seated himself, when the shivering became more violent, and he
had an actual attack of nerves, in the midst of which his fear of
frightening me made him press my hand and whisper: "It is
nothing, nothing. I want to weep."

His chest laboured, his eyes were injected with blood, but no
tears came. I made him smell the salts which I had with me, and
when we reached his house only the shivering remained.

With the help of his servant I put him to bed, lit a big fire in
his room, and hurried off to my doctor, to whom I told all that
had happened. He hastened with me.

Armand was flushed and delirious; he stammered out disconnected
words, in which only the name of Marguerite could be distinctly
heard.

"Well?" I said to the doctor when he had examined the patient.

"Well, he has neither more nor less than brain fever, and very
lucky it is for him, for I firmly believe (God forgive me!) that
he would have gone out of his mind. Fortunately, the physical
malady will kill the mental one, and in a month's time he will be
free from the one and perhaps from the other."