It was impossible for Angelique to sleep that night.

A nervous wakefulness kept her burning eyelids from closing, and her extreme weakness seemed greater than ever.

The Huberts had gone to their room, and at last, when it was near midnight, so great a fear came over her that she would die if she were to remain longer in bed, she preferred to get up, notwithstanding the immense effort required to do so.
She was almost stifled.

Putting on a dressing-gown and warm slippers, she crept along slowly as far as the window, which she opened wide.
The winter was somewhat rainy, but of a mild dampness; so the air was pleasant to breathe.

She sank back into her great armchair, after having turned up the wick of a lamp which was on a table near her, and which was always allowed to be kept burning during the entire night.