"Why, mademoiselle's mother."
"My mother paid Herminie? And for what?"
"Ah, yes, it is true that mademoiselle is not aware—I suppose no one has told mademoiselle for fear of making her still more sad."
"Has not told me what? In Heaven's name, speak!"
"Why, the late countess suffered so much towards the last, that the physicians, at their wit's end, thought that music might ameliorate her sufferings, at least to some extent."
"Great Heaven! I can not believe it. Go on, go on."
"So they sent for a young musician, and this young musician was Herminie!"
"Herminie?"
"Yes, mademoiselle. For ten days or a fortnight before Madame la comtesse died, mademoiselle came to play and sing to her every day, and they say it quieted the countess very much, but unfortunately it was too late."
While Ernestine was drying the tears these sad details, hitherto unknown to her, had brought to her eyes, Madame Laîné continued: