Henrietta had indeed recovered her consciousness. First had come a shiver running over her whole body; then she had tried painfully and repeatedly to raise herself on her pillows, looking around,—
Evidently she did not remember what had happened, and mechanically passed her hand to and fro over her brow, as if to brush away the dark veil that was hanging over her mind, looking with haggard eyes at the doctors, at her father, and at her confidante, Clarissa, who knelt by her bedside, weeping.
At last, when, all of a sudden, the horrid reality broke upon her mind, she threw herself back, and cried out,—
“O God!”
But she was saved; and the doctors soon withdrew, declaring that there was nothing to apprehend now, provided their prescriptions were carefully observed. The count then came up to his daughter, and, taking her hands, asked her,—
“Come, child. What has happened? What was the matter?”
She looked upon him in utter despair, and then said in a low voice,—
“Nothing! only you have ruined me, father.”
“How, how?” said the count. “What do you mean?”
And very much embarrassed, perhaps angry against himself, and trying to find an excuse for what he had done, he added, simpering,—