Neither Mathieu nor Marianne went to bed at once, however. Though they
did not even speak of it together, they thought that Rose looked very
strange, as if, indeed, she were intoxicated. She had again staggered on
returning to the house, and though she only complained of some slight
oppression, they prevailed on her to go to bed. After she had retired to
her room, which adjoined their own, Marianne went several times to see if
she were well wrapped up and were sleeping peacefully, while Mathieu
remained anxiously thoughtful beside the lamp. At last the girl fell
asleep, and the parents, leaving the door of communication open, then
exchanged a few words in an undertone, in their desire to tranquillize
each other. It would surely be nothing; a good night's rest would suffice
to restore Rose to her wonted health. Then in their turn they went to
bed, the whole farm lapsed into silence, surrendering itself to slumber
until the first cockcrow. But all at once, about four o'clock, shortly
before daybreak, a stifled call, "Mamma! mamma!" awoke both Mathieu and
Marianne, and they sprang out of bed, barefooted, shivering, and groping
for the candle.
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