AS soon as the Governor had disappeared, Mrs Courtney tried hard to get her husband out of the room; but he was obstinately bent on remaining until his daughter had recovered her consciousness, and so, when Maraquita opened her eyes, both her father and mother were bending over her.
‘Where am I?’ she exclaimed, as the world broke indistinctly upon her again.
‘In your own room, my darling. Lie down, Quita. Don’t attempt to rise. You are quite safe. No one can hurt you here.’
‘Safe!’ repeated the girl, in a bewildered tone. ‘Ah, I remember now! The ballroom—the blood—those dreadful cries! Oh, mamma, mamma,’ she continued, clinging to her mother, ‘I shall never forget it! And Julie Latreille too. I saw her murdered at my side. It is too, too horrible!’
‘No, no, my dearest. You are mistaken. Julie is not dead. She was wounded, and they have taken her to the hospital. But don’t think of it any more to-night. Let me undress you, that you may try and get some sleep.’
‘Not think of it!’ said Maraquita, with staring bloodshot eyes, as she sat up on the couch in her white lace dress, all crumpled and spattered with blood, ‘not think of it. Why, I shall never cease to think of it. And there was something else too. What was it? Ah, Henri! and he cursed me!’
‘Mr Courtney, I must request you to leave us!’ exclaimed his wife hurriedly. ‘You see the excitable condition she is in, and I can do nothing with her whilst you are hanging over her like this. The less people she has with her the better! You must positively go, and leave her to Jessica and me.’
‘Well, my dear, if you think it necessary, of course I will go; but you will lose no time, I hope, in getting the poor child into bed.’
‘Do you suppose I don’t know what is best for her, Mr Courtney? I am only waiting till you are gone, to undress her.’