“No; stop! Tell me what I am doing in this dark room. What is the matter with me?”
“You have been very sick,” she said, removing a wet cloth from my forehead, and wiping the dampness away; “you have been delirious for more than two weeks. But the doctor says you must lie still and not talk.”
“But I will talk,” I said, peevishly; “I will know how I came here. Where are Ned and Ramie?”
A half distinct memory of the duel and its consequences flitted across my mind, but it was all so confused that it seemed some horrid dream, and in helpless uncertainty I turned my cheek over on my palm and gazed at Carlotta, imploringly.
She stroked my forehead with her soft hand, and begged me to remain quiet, promising to tell me all I wanted to know as soon as I became a little stronger. Her touch and sweet voice were so soothing that I fell into a gentle doze, from which I soon awoke much clearer in my mind than before. And now a blighting remembrance of Ramie’s death came over me, with such force as to nearly unsettle my reason again.
Mother soon came in, and, by skilfully diverting my thoughts from the painful subject, managed to remove some of the shadows that clustered around me.
Days lengthened into weeks before I was able to sit up, and how dreary would have been those convalescent hours had it not been for Carlotta! She seemed to have no interest outside of my room. Her attention was never officious or too constant, and it was rendered with so much tact it seemed as if I was conferring a favor by accepting it. I was so sure it was a pleasure to her that I never refused letting her do whatever she would for me. She would sit by my bedside for hours reading or talking to me, seeking to divert me by all means possible from gloomy thoughts or sad reflections. So bright was the sunshine of her presence that I was unhappy unless she were near me; and however dreary I might be feeling, as soon as she entered, my face and heart would sensibly brighten.
While she would never allow me to draw her into conversation about Ramie and his mother, yet I gradually learned the sad truth. After Madame DeVare was carried to the hotel every effort was made by the physicians to revive her, but in vain. The cataleptic stroke, induced by the shock she received, in spite of all their labor, proved fatal, and she and Ramie were buried together in the cemetery the same day.
Then Carlotta would listen with such a pleasant, talk-eliciting interest to my stories of college life that I could talk with untiring volubility. In return she would tell me of all that had occurred at home since I had been away, with so much originality of expression and artlessness of narration that I would lie and gaze for an hour at a time on her faultless face. Occasionally she would lift her eyes from her needlework, and whenever they met mine I always looked away with a strange and unaccountable confusion.
One day, in our talk, she asked me if Frank and I were still good friends. I told her no, and inquired why she asked.