"Who?"
"The young woman, my lady. She died on Saturday. She was buried to-day."
Berenice sank back on the sofa and covered her face with her hands. So! her dangerous rival was gone; the poor unhappy girl was dead! Berenice was jealous, but pitiful. And she experienced in the same moment a sense of infinite relief and a feeling of the deepest compassion.
Neither mistress nor maid spoke for several minutes. The latter was the first to break silence.
"My lady!"
"Well, Phœbe!"
"There was something else I had to tell you."
"What was it?"
"The young woman left a child, my lady."
"A child!" Again Berenice was up on her elbow, her eyes fixed upon the speaker and blazing with eager interest.