The doctor called it brain fever.

It was not the common form, he said, but a more dangerous form, to which only imaginative men were subject.

It was a form of madness all the more malignant because the sufferer, and particularly his friends, might go for years without suspecting it.

The doctor gave the disease no name.
During his illness Antony spoke to Beatrice all the time as Silencieux, but one day, when he was nearly well again, he suddenly turned upon her in enraged disappointment, with a curious harshness he had never shown before, as though the gentleness of his soul had died during his illness, and exclaimed:--"Why, you are not Silencieux, after all!" "I am Beatrice," said his wife gently; "Beatrice, who loves you with her whole heart." "But I love Silencieux--" Beatrice hid her face and sobbed.
"Where is Silencieux?
Bring me Silencieux.

I see! You have taken her away while I was ill--I will go and seek her myself," and he attempted to rise.
"You are too weak.