Agatha, the servant girl, was even in a still worse condition; it was evident that she had been weeping, for her eyes were red and swollen.
Lord Ethalwood himself felt dispirited, and it was in vain that he strove to assume an air of cheerfulness, and it was impossible for the vivacious Frenchwoman, his hostess, not to observe that there was something the matter with her guest. The woman prudently forebore to make any allusion to his altered demeanour.
“I am but a dull and cheerless companion, madame,” observed Lord Ethalwood, when he rose from the table. “The fact is I am not so strong as I supposed, and my long morning’s walk has been a little too much for me.”
“It is not to be wondered at, my lord,” returned the lady. “It will be some time, I expect, before you have recovered your strength.”
“No doubt some time, but to-morrow I hope and trust I shall be a little better.”
“I hope so, I am sure.”
He excused himself upon the plea of weakness, and retired to his room. Here he sat ruminating for some time, and upon retiring to bed that night, he could not rest, a vision of two girls sleeping under the same roof with him rose up and floated before him, so that repose was impossible.
The next morning he rose earlier than usual, hoping to find health and strength in the fresh mountain breeze.
He was away some considerable time, wandering about in a desultory manner he knew not whither.
When he returned to Madame Trieste’s house, he was silent and thoughtful, but was, nevertheless, extremely courteous in his manner. This was habitual to him. He found the ladies waiting breakfast for him.