a little hysterical laugh. “I feel I couldn’t eat a thing if I tried.”
“I think the whole affair is sheer folly,” said Dr. Porhoët.
“You promised me you would try.”
The day, the long summer day, passed slowly. There was a hard brilliancy in the sky that reminded the Frenchman of those Egyptian heavens when the earth seemed crushed beneath a bowl of molten fire. Arthur was too restless to remain indoors and left the others to their own devices. He walked without aim, as fast as he could go; he felt no weariness. The burning sun beat down upon him, but he did not know it. The hours passed with lagging feet. Susie lay on her bed and tried to read. Her nerves were so taut that, when there was a sound in the courtyard of a pail falling on the cobbles, she cried out in terror. The sun rose up, and presently her window was flooded with quivering rays of gold. It was midday. The sun passed on, and it was afternoon. The evening came, but it brought no freshness. Meanwhile Dr. Porhoët sat in the little parlour, with his head between his hands, trying by a great mental effort to bring back to his memory all that he had read. His heart began to beat more quickly. Then the night fell, and one by one the stars shone out. There was no wind. The air was peculiarly heavy. Susie came downstairs and began to talk with Dr. Porhoët. But they spoke in a low tone as if they were afraid that someone would overhear. They were faint now with want of food. The hours went one by one, and the
