"Notwithstanding her firm nature and her self-control, she succumbed to the reaction of that night's excitement. Last night she was seized with a high fever. She was bled twice to-day. A minute ago we found her in a desperate state. A fatal end is apprehended."
"Poor Mary!" exclaimed Hena, clasping her hands in despair, and her eyes filling with tears. "What a misfortune! This news overwhelms me with sorrow!"
"Unhappily her sister-in-law left yesterday for Meaux with her husband," remarked Hervé. "La Catelle, at death's door, is left at this moment to the care of a servant."
"Hena, quick, my cloak!" said Bridget rising precipitately from her seat. "I can not leave that worthy friend to the care of mercenary hands. I shall run to her help."
"Good, dear mother, you but forestall father's wishes," observed Hervé, as his sister hurried to take Bridget's cloak out of a trunk. "Father told me to hurry and notify you of this misfortune. He said he knew how attached you were to our friend, and that you would wish to spend the night at her bed, and render her the care she stands in need of."
Wrapping herself in her cloak, Bridget was about to leave the house.
"Mother," said Hena, "will you not take me with you?"
"How can you think of such a thing, child, at this hour of night!"
"Sister, it is for me to escort mother," put in Hervé; and, with a tender voice, accompanied with the offer of his forehead for Bridget to kiss, the hypocrite added:
"Is it not the sweetest of my duties to watch over you, good mother?"