“Ah!” said he, “she will die; I know it.”
There was such intense anguish in his tone that even the practised woman of the world was softened.
“I assure you, sir,” said she, “that you go too far; there is no present danger; the doctors say it is catalepsy, which often attacks persons of a nervous temperament upon the receipt of a sudden mental shock.”
“But what shock has she received?” asked Andre.
“No one told me,” answered she after a short pause, “that Sabine’s illness was caused by the breaking off of her engagement; but, of course, I supposed that it was.”
“That was not the reason, Clotilde; but you have told us nothing; pray, go on,” interposed De Breulh.
The extreme calmness of her cousin, and a glance which she observed passing between him and Andre, enlightened the Viscountess somewhat.
“I asked as much as I dared,” she replied, “but I could only get the vaguest answers. Sabine looked as if she were dead, and her father and mother hovered around her couch like two spectres. Had they slain her with their own hands, they could not have looked more guilty; their faces frightened me.”
“Tell me precisely what answers were given to your questions,” broke in he impatiently.
“Sabine had seemed so agitated all day, that her mother asked her if she was suffering any pain.”