CHAPTER VII.
The great Dr. O—— was instantly sent for, telegrams to Helena and Charles were despatched, and all that human skill or care could do was done to save Mary; but while waiting for the doctor's sentence to be pronounced and Helena's arrival from Ireland, we shall turn our attention to our heroine and the coming interview with her lover.
On this fatal morning after the ball, when Flora went into the breakfast-room, where her mother and Marie were before her, the former exclaimed as she kissed her, "My child, what is the matter? You look very ill; are you so?"
"No," answered Flora, speaking hurriedly to cover her intended équivoque, "not now; but I certainly did suffer during the night. Neuralgia is dreadful torture. But where is Edward?"
"Oh, he desired us not to wait breakfast for him, as he would probably be very late, and we are going out early."
"For what?" asked Flora, listlessly.
"Oh, you méchante Flore!" cried Marie; "I do believe that you have forgotten the—the—prise d'habit—what you call it in English?—at the Sacré Cœur to-day."
"You are right; I had forgotten it. But at all events I cannot go: I have an appointment for this morning."