Perhaps he was right; but at all events he had scarcely left the house before Madame Leon again urged her dear young lady to take a few hours’ rest. “What can you fear?” she insisted, in her wheedling voice. “Sha’n’t I be here? Do you suppose your old Leon capable of losing herself in sleep, when your future depends upon a word from that poor man lying there?”
“Pray, cease.”
“Ah, no! my dear young lady; my love for you compels me.”
“Oh, enough!” interrupted Mademoiselle Marguerite; “enough, Leon!”
Her tone was so determined that the housekeeper was compelled to yield; but not without a deep sigh, not without an imploring glance to Heaven, as if calling upon Providence to witness the purity of her motives and the usefulness of her praiseworthy efforts. “At least, my dear lady, wrap yourself up warmly. Shall I go and bring you your heavy travelling shawl?”
“Thanks, my dear Leon—Annette will bring it.”
“Then, pray, send for it. But we are not going to watch alone? What should we do if we needed anything?”
“I will call,” replied Marguerite.
This was unnecessary, for Dr. Jodon’s departure from the house had put an abrupt termination to the servants’ conference; and they were now assembled on the landing, anxious and breathless, and peering eagerly into the sick-room.
Mademoiselle Marguerite went toward them. “Madame Leon and myself will remain with the count,” she said. “Annette”—this was the woman whom she liked best of all the servants “Casimir and a footman will spend the night in the little side salon. The others may retire.”