The lover, Paul Delage, was with difficulty deciphering a speech:

"'I recognize the château with its brick walls, its slated roof; the
park, where I have so often entwined her initials and mine on the bark
of the trees; the pond whose slumbering waters....'"

Fagette rebuked him:

"'Beware, Aimeri, lest the château know you not again, lest the park
forget your name, lest the pond murmur: "Who is this stranger?"'"

But she had a cold, and was reading from a manuscript copy full of
mistakes.

"Don't stand there, Fagette: it's the summer-house," said Romilly.

"How do you expect me to know that?"

"There's a chair put there."

"'Lest the pond murmur: "Who is this stranger?"'"

"Mademoiselle Nanteuil, it's your cue----Where has Nanteuil got to?
Nanteuil!"

Nanteuil came forward muffled up in her furs, her little bag and her
part in her hand, white as a sheet, her eyes sunken, her legs nerveless.
When fully awake she had seen the dead man enter her bedroom.