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Updated: June 18, 2025
This is the forty-second day since she has either eaten or drunk." Monsieur Deslandes called for Manette. The Abbe Birotteau took me to the gardens. "Let us leave her to the doctor," he said; "with Manette's help he will wrap her in opium. Well, you have heard her now if indeed it is she herself." "No," I said, "it is not she." I was stupefied with grief.
Minutes are centuries which we long to make restorative; we wish our dear ones to lie on roses, we pray to bear their sufferings, we cling to the hope that their last moment may be to them unexpected. "Monsieur Deslandes has ordered the flowers taken away; they excited Madame's nerves," said Manette. Then it was the flowers that caused her delirium; she herself was not a part of it.
The words were of a nature to make him suspect an atonement. He promised to come twice a week, left directions for the treatment with Monsieur Deslandes, and pointed out the threatening symptoms that might oblige us to send for him. I asked the countess to let me sit up the alternate nights and then, not without difficulty, I persuaded her to go to bed on the third night.
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