MADEMOISELLE DE SAINTE-AMOUR'S SICK-HEADACHE  
The directors were lodged at the Luxembourg, each according to his tastes and habits rather than his needs.
Barras, the man of action and display, the great lord, the Indian nabob, had taken the whole of the wing which now forms the picture-gallery and its appurtenances. Rewbell and La Reveillière-Lepaux shared the other wing. Carnot had taken the whole ground floor for himself and his brother, and had cut off an immense room for his maps from the rest of the apartment. Barthélemy, who had come last, and who was coldly received by his colleagues because he had shared in the counter-revolution, had contented himself with what was left.
On the evening before the stormy meeting at the Clichy Club had taken place, Barras had returned to his rooms in a bad temper. He had invited no one, intending to pass the evening with Mademoiselle de Sainte-Amour, who had replied to his note, sent two hours earlier, by a charming letter saying that, as ever, she would be delighted to see him.
But when he presented himself at the door at nine o'clock, Suzette answered his ring, coming on tiptoe, and entreating him with hand and voice to be silent, as her mistress had been attacked by one of those violent sick-headaches, for which the faculty had as yet found no rem[Pg 466]edy, since their cause lay, not in the patient's constitution, but rather in her mind.
The director followed Suzette, walking as cautiously as if he had a bandage over his eyes, and were engaged in a game of blind man's buff. As he passed the door of the boudoir, which was shut, he cast a suspicious glance at it before entering the sleeping apartment, with which we are familiar, and which was lighted only by an alabaster lamp in which perfumed oil was burning, and which was suspended from the ceiling.
There was nothing to be said. Mademoiselle de Sainte-Amour was lying upon her bed of rosewood inlaid with Sèvres porcelain. She was wearing a little lace cap especially reserved for days of great suffering, and spoke in the plaintive voice of one to whom speech is an effort.
"Ah! my dear general!" she said, "how good you are to come; and how I longed to see you."
"Was it not understood that I was to spend the evening with you?" replied Barras.
"Yes, and although I was suffering from this odious headache, I said nothing about it. I wanted so much to see you. When one is suffering, the presence of those one loves is more than ever appreciated."
She languidly withdrew a warm, moist hand from beneath the coverings, and extended it to Barras, who kissed it gallantly, and then seated himself upon the foot of the bed. The pain made the invalid moan.
"Ah!" said Barras, "this is a severe headache, is it not?"
"Yes and no," replied Aurélie; "with a little rest it would pass off. Ah! if I could only sleep!"
The words were accompanied with a sigh that might have made the god of sleep himself envious of the beautiful courtesan.
It is probable that within a week after they were driven from Paradise, Eve played this little comedy of the sick-headache for Adam, which has lasted for six thousand years and which has always been attended with the same[Pg 467] success. Men joke about it; women laugh over it; but whenever it is needed the headache hastens to the aid of whoever summons it, and succeeds in getting rid of all importunates.
Barras sat with the beautiful invalid for ten minutes, until she thought that she could decently shut her eyes, half sadly, half smilingly, and permit her breast to rise and fall with that gentle and regular breathing which indicates that while the soul may still be awake the body has already embarked upon the calm ocean of sleep.
Barras laid the hand which he had been holding gently down upon the lace coverlet, deposited a paternal kiss upon the sleeper's white forehead, and bade Suzette tell her mistress that his manifold occupations would possibly prevent him from returning within the next three or four days. Then he left the room on tiptoe as he had entered it. As he passed the boudoir, he longed to push the door open, for something told him that the cause of the fair Aurélie's headache was concealed there. Suzette followed him to the outer door, which she took the precaution to double-lock after him.
When Barras returned to the Luxembourg, his valet informed him that a lady was awaiting him. Barras asked the usual question: "Young or old?"
"She must be young, sir," replied the valet; "but I have not been able to see her face because of her veil."
"How is she dressed?"
"Like a woman in good society, in black satin. She looks like a widow."
"Did you bring............