Unable to articulate a word, even if she had understood what was said, poor Henrietta shivered, shrank with horror and disgust from the contact with those lying lips. And the emotion which this feeling caused her did more for her than all the attentions that were paid her. Still, it was only after the doctor, who had been sent for, had come and bled her, that she was restored to the full use of her faculties. Then she thanked, in a very feeble voice, the people around her, assuring them that she felt much better now, and might safely be left alone.
The two wealthy ladies, whom curiosity had carried off at the moment when they were sitting down to dinner, did not wait for more, and, very happy to be released, slipped away at once. But the concierge’s wife remained by Henrietta’s bedside till she was alone with her victim; and then every thing changed in her face, tone of voice, look, and manner.
“Well,” she commenced, “now you are happy, miss! You have advertised my house, and it will all be in the papers. Everybody will pity you, and think your lover a cold-blooded villain, who lets you die of starvation.”
The poor young girl deprecated the charge with such a sweet, gentle expression of face, that a savage would have been touched; but Mrs. Chevassat was civilized.
“And still you know very well,” she went on in a bitter tone, “that dear M. Maxime has done all he could to save you. Only day before yesterday, he offered you his whole fortune”—
“Madam,” stammered Henrietta, “have you no mercy?”
Mercy—Mrs. Chevassat! What a joke!
“You would take nothing,” she continued, “from M. Maxime. Why, I ask you? To play the virtuous woman, was it? It was hardly worth while, if you meant, immediately afterwards, to accept that old miser, who will make life hard enough for you. Ah, you have fallen into nice hands!”
Gathering up all the strength that had come back to her, Henrietta raised herself on the pillows, and asked,—
“What do you mean?”