"Yesterday's news," said Murphy, trembling violently, "was false."
"What say you?"
"The report of the death of the Countess Macgregor, my lord, is unfounded; her ladyship had undergone a severe crisis of her illness, and had fallen into a state of insensibility, which was mistaken by those around her for death itself, and from hence originated the account of her having expired; but to-day hopes are entertained of her ultimate recovery."
"Merciful heavens! Can this be possible?" exclaimed the prince, filled with sudden alarm; while Clémence, who understood nothing of all this, looked on with undisguised astonishment.
"My lord," said David, still occupied with Fleur-de-Marie, "there is no need of the slightest apprehension respecting this young lady, but it is absolutely necessary she should be in the open air; this chair might be easily rolled out on the terrace, by opening the door leading to the garden; she would then immediately recover consciousness."
Murphy instantly ran to open the glass door, which led to a broad terrace, then, aided by David, he gently rolled the armchair on to it.
"Alas!" cried Rodolph, as soon as Murphy and David were at a distance, "you have yet to learn that the Countess Sarah is the mother of Fleur-de-Marie; and I believed her dead."
A few moments of profound silence followed; Madame d'Harville became deadly pale, while an icy coldness seemed to chill her heart.
"Let me briefly explain," continued Rodolph, in extreme agitation, mingled with bitter sarcasm, "that this ambitious and selfish woman, caring for nothing but my rank and title, contrived, during my extreme youth, to draw me into a secret marriage, which was afterwards annulled. Being desirous of contracting a second marriage, the countess occasioned all the misfortunes of her unhappy child, by abandoning her to the care of mercenary and unprincipled people."
"Now I can account for the repugnance you manifested towards her."