But consecutive thought was impossible, and I gave up the attempt, as I stumbled to the couch and fell fast asleep.
Into my dreams came voices that I knew, speaking in French, in low tones which yet reached my ears distinctly.
"I think we should tell him; it is not right, or just, to keep him in ignorance."
"No,--no,--we must not tell him; we must not!" Anne said softly, but vehemently. "We shall need him so sorely,--there are so very few whom we can really trust. Besides, why should we tell him? It would break his heart! For remember, we do not know."
They were not dream voices, but real ones, and as I found that out, I felt I'd better let the speakers,--Anne and Loris,--know I was awake; for I'd no wish to overhear what they were saying, especially as I had a queer intuition that they were talking of me. So I sat up under the fur rug some one had thrown over me, and began to stammer out an apology in English.
The room was almost dark, and through the window, with its heavy stone frame, I saw the last glow of a stormy sunset. Anne and Loris stood there, looking out, and as I moved and spoke she broke off her sentence and came towards me.
"You have slept long, Maurice; that is well," she said, also in English, with the pretty, deliberate accent I had always thought so charming. "There is no need for apologies; we should have roused you if necessary, but all is quiet so far. Will you come to my boudoir presently? I will give you tea there. We have scarcely had one word together as yet,--and there is so much to say! I will send lights now; some of the servants have returned and will get you all you need."
Loris opened the door for her, and crossed back to his former post by the window, while I scrambled up, as a scared-looking, shamefaced man servant entered with a lamp, and slunk out again.
"Those wretches! They deserve the knout!" Loris said grimly, when we were alone. "They were all well armed, and yet, at the first hint of danger, they took themselves into hiding, leaving those two women defenceless here. Well, they will have to take care of themselves in future, the curs! The countess is dead," he added abruptly.
"Yes. Always, even in her madness, she remembered all she had suffered, and her terror of being arrested again killed her. It is God's mercy for her that she is at peace,--and for us, too, for we could not have taken her with us, nor have left her in charge of Natalya and these hounds, as we had intended. We shall bury her out in the courtyard yonder. It is the only way, and later, if nothing prevents, we start for the railroad."