CHAPTER LI.
ANDRÉE.
The doctor remained thoughtful, then said to himself,—“There are other difficulties here besides those I can contend with by science.” He bathed again the temples of his patient, who for the time began to grow calmer.
All at once the doctor heard the rustling of a dress outside. “Can it be the queen returned?” thought he; and opening the door softly, he saw before him the motionless figure of a woman, looking like a statue of despair. It was almost dark; he advanced suddenly along the corridor to the place where the figure was standing. On seeing him, she uttered a cry.
“Who is there?” asked Doctor Louis.
“I, doctor!” replied a sweet and sorrowful voice—a voice that he knew but could not immediately recognize. “I, Andrée de Taverney,” continued she.
“Oh, mon Dieu! what is the matter?” cried the doctor; “is she ill?”
“She! who?”
The doctor felt that he had committed an imprudence.
“Excuse me, but I saw a lady going away just now, perhaps it was you.”
“Oh, yes, there has been a lady here before me, has there not?” asked Andrée, in a tone of emotion.