I took hold of his hand and spoke to him,
and he felt to me like a dead man. Then I turned round; my lady and
Mr. Urbain were there. 'My poor Bread,' said my lady, 'M. le Marquis is
gone.' Mr. Urbain knelt down by the bed and said softly, 'Mon pere, mon
pere.' I thought it wonderful strange, and asked my lady what in the
world had happened, and why she hadn't called me. She said nothing had
happened; that she had only been sitting there with the marquis, very
quiet. She had closed her eyes, thinking she might sleep, and she had
slept, she didn't know how long. When she woke up he was dead. 'It's
death, my son, It's death,' she said to the count. Mr. Urbain said they
must have the doctor, immediately, from Poitiers, and that he would ride
off and fetch him. He kissed his father's face, and then he kissed his
mother and went away. My lady and I stood there at the bedside. As I
looked at the poor marquis it came into my head that he was not dead,
that he was in a kind of swoon. And then my lady repeated, 'My poor
Bread, it's death, it's death;' and I said, 'Yes, my lady, it's
certainly death.' I said just the opposite to what I believed; it was my
notion. Then my lady said we must wait for the doctor, and we sat there
and waited. It was a long time; the poor marquis neither stirred nor
changed.
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