And he slightly touched her shoulder to arouse her. The girl started and opened her large eyes, sunken by disease. Let her terror and alarm be imagined. While a crowd of men surrounded her bed and followed her every motion with their eyes, she felt the hand of the doctor throw back the covering, and slip into the bed in order to feel her pulse.
Collecting all her strength, with a voice of anguish and affright, she cried: "Mother! help, mother!"
By a chance almost providential, at the moment when the cries of Miss de Fermont made the old Count de Saint Rerny start from his chair, for he recognized the voice, the door of the hall opened, and a young woman, dressed in mourning, entered precipitately, accompanied by the director of the hospital. This was Lady d'Harville.
"In mercy, sir," said she to the director, with the greatest anxiety, "conduct me to Miss de Fermont."
"Be good enough to follow me, my lady," answered the director, respectfully. "She is at No. 17, in this hall."
"Unfortunate child! here, here!" said Lady d'Harville, wiping her eyes; "oh, it is frightful!"
Preceded by the director, she advanced rapidly toward the group assembled around the bed, when these words were heard, pronounced with indignation: "I tell you that it is murder--you will kill her, sir."
"But, my dear Saint Reiny, listen then--"
"I repeat to you, sir, that your conduct is atrocious. I regard Miss de Fermont as my daughter. I forbid you to approach her; I will have her immediately removed hence."
"But, my dear friend, it is a case of slow nervous fever, very rare. I wish to try phosphorus. It is a unique occasion. Promise me at least that I shall take care of her. What matters it where you take her, since you deprive my clinique of a _subject_ so precious?"
"If you were not mad, you would be a monster," answered the Count de Saint Rémy.
Clémence listened to these words with increasing anguish; but the crowd was so dense that the director was obliged to say in a loud voice: "Make room, gentlemen, if you please--make room for her ladyship, the most noble the Marchioness d'Harville, who comes to see No. 17."
At these words the students fell back with as much eagerness as respectful admiration, on seeing the charming face of Clémence, to which emotion had given a most lively color.