Her first conscious action, when she was in some degree mistress of
herself again, was to lean over the bed, and to look closer at the woman
who had so incomprehensibly stolen into her room in the dead of night.
One glance was enough: she started back with a cry of amazement.
The person in the chair was no other than the widow of the dead Montbarry--
the woman who had warned her that they were to meet again,
and that the place might be Venice!
Her courage returned to her, stung into action by the natural sense
of indignation which the presence of the Countess provoked.
'Wake up!' she called out. 'How dare you come here? How did you get in?
Leave the room--or I will call for help!'
She raised her voice at the last words. It produced no effect.
Leaning farther over the bed, she boldly took the Countess
by the shoulder and shook her. Not even this effort succeeded
in rousing the sleeping woman. She still lay back in the chair,
possessed by a torpor like the torpor of death--insensible to sound,
insensible to touch. Was she really sleeping? Or had she fainted?
Agnes looked closer at her.
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