Yet it did not satisfy Constance. She could not believe that Adele had committed suicide. Adele must possess some secret. What was it?
"Is—is there any change?" she asked anxiously of the young surgeon now engrossed in his work.
For answer he merely nodded to the apparently motionless form on the bed, and for a moment stopped the pulmotor.
The mechanical movement of the body ceased. But in its place was a slight tremor about the lips and mouth.
Adele moved—was faintly gasping for breath!
"Adele!" cried Constance softly in her ear. "Adele!"
Something, perhaps a far-away answer of recognition, seemed to flicker over her face. The doctor redoubled his efforts.
"Adele—do you know me?" whispered Constance again.
"Yes," came back faintly at last. "There—there's something—wrong with it—They—they—"
"How? What do you mean?" urged Constance. "Tell me, Adele."