“I hope so, sir,” she replied. “It is true that I have recently been seriously ill, and that it is only within the last few days that I have recovered my memory; but I believe I have completely recovered it, and my mind feels quite clear.”
“Your name?”
“Solange-Edmonde de Mauprat; Edmea sylvestris,” she added in an undertone.
I shuddered. As she said these unseasonable words her eyes had assumed a strange expression. I feared that her mind was going to wander still further. My counsel was also alarmed and looked at me inquiringly. No one but myself had understood these two words which Edmee had been in the habit of frequently repeating during the first and last days of her illness. Happily this was the last sign of any disturbance in her faculties. She shook her beautiful head, as if to drive out any troublesome ideas; and, the president having asked her for an explanation of these unintelligible words, she replied with sweetness and dignity:
“It is nothing, sir. Please continue my examination.”
“Your age, mademoiselle?”
“Twenty-four.”
“Are you related to the prisoner?”
“He is my second cousin, and my father’s grand-nephew.”
“Do you swear to speak the truth, the whole truth?”