"Hark! awake not my Urbain; he sleeps there in the next room. Ay, my
hair is indeed wet, and my feet--see, my feet that were once so white,
see how the mud has soiled them. But I have made a vow--I will not wash
them till I have seen the King, and until he has granted me Urbain's
pardon. I am going to the army to find him; I will speak to him as
Grandier taught me to speak, and he will pardon him. And listen, I will
also ask thy pardon, for I read it in thy face that thou, too, art
condemned to death. Poor youth! thou art too young to die, thy curling
hair is beautiful; but yet thou art condemned, for thou hast on thy brow
a line that never deceives. The man thou hast struck will kill thee.
Thou hast made too much use of the cross; it is that which will bring
evil upon thee. Thou hast struck with it, and thou wearest it round thy
neck by a hair chain. Nay, hide not thy face; have I said aught to
afflict thee, or is it that thou lovest, young man? Ah, reassure
thyself, I will not tell all this to thy love. I am mad, but I am
gentle, very gentle; and three days ago I was beautiful. Is she also
beautiful? Ah! she will weep some day! Yet, if she can weep, she will
be happy!"

And then suddenly Jeanne began to recite the service for the dead in a
monotonous voice, but with incredible rapidity, still seated on the bed,
and turning the beads of a long rosary.

Suddenly the door opened; she looked up, and fled through another door in
the partition.

"What the devil's that-an imp or an angel, saying the funeral service
over you, and you under the clothes, as if you were in a shroud?"