Dionysia listened to him with such absorbing interest, that she well-nigh forgot why she had come.
“Then,” she asked, “you think M. de Boiscoran is not much overcome?”
“I should lie if I said he did not look sad, madam,” was the reply. “But he is not overcome. After the first astonishment, his presence of mind returned; and M. Galpin has in vain tried these three days by all his ingenuity and his cleverness”—
Here he stopped suddenly, like a drunken man who recovers his consciousness for a moment, and becomes aware that he has said too much in his cups. He exclaimed,—
“Great God! what am I talking about? For Heaven’s sake, madam, do not let anybody hear what I was led by my respectful sympathy to tell you just now.”
Dionysia felt that the decisive moment had come. She said,—
“If you knew me better, sir, you would know that you can rely upon my discretion. You need not regret having given me by your confidence some little comfort in my great sorrow. You need not; for”—
Her voice nearly failed her, and it was only with a great effort she could add,—
“For I come to ask you to do even more than that for me, oh! yes, much more.”
Mechinet had turned painfully pale. He broke in vehemently,—