“You see that I was right in what I told you.”
This remark for the first time attracted Madame de Bois Arden’s attention to the fact that a stranger was present, and she trembled lest she had committed some grave indiscretion.
“Gracious heavens!” exclaimed she, with a start, “why, I thought that we were alone!”
“This gentleman has all my confidence,” replied M. de Breulh seriously; and as he spoke he laid his hand upon Andre’s shoulder. “Permit me to introduce M. Andre to you, my dear Clotilde; he may not be known to-day, but in a short time his reputation will be European.”
Andre bowed, but for once in her life the Viscountess felt embarrassed, for she was surprised at the extremely shabby attire of this confidential friend, and then there seemed something wanting to the name.
“Then,” resumed De Breulh, “Mademoiselle de Mussidan is really ill, and our information is correct.”
“She is.”
“Did you see her?”
“I did, Gontran; and had you seen her, your heart would have been filled with pity, and you would have repented your conduct toward her. The poor girl did not even know me. She lay in her bed, whiter than the very sheets, cold and inanimate as a figure of marble. Her large black eyes were staring wildly, and the only sign of life she exhibited was when the great tears coursed down her cheeks.”
Andre had determined to restrain every token of emotion in the presence of the Viscountess, but her recital was too much for him.