"Where is this mysterious hiding place? What do I see on the sofa? It is you, you whom I adore, you whom I sought. I hold you in my arms. But your mask—take off your mask, do take it off. What! You still want to run away? No, no, you shall not escape me again."
As he spoke, he made an effort to raise himself.
"Léon," cried Elinor, rushing to the bedside, "Léon, stop!"
He looked up at her, startled, uncertain; then, after an instant's silence, he began again more calmly:
"It is too much. Lift my head. Ah! if I could but sleep!"
By this time the nurse, roused by Elinor's cry, had come forward to support him, but he turned from her, and let his head drop on Elinor's bosom. By degrees, a more tranquil sleep seemed to steal over his senses.
A little later Mme. de Gernancé joined them, looking anxiously for her friend. She too had risen before daybreak and, not finding Elinor in her own apartments, had hastened to the sick room, where the spectacle before her eyes arrested her at the door. Léon was asleep, supported on Elinor's shoulder, while she, seated motionless on the edge of the bed with her head bent over her lover's, was vainly endeavoring to check the tears that streamed from her eyes.
Mme. de Gernancé hastened up to the bed.
"What are you doing here, Elinor?" she said in a low whisper. "How imprudent you are!"
"Leave me alone," her friend rejoined. "Nothing will induce me to leave this bed until this unfortunate man is either dead or saved. I don't care who knows that I love him and that I am his; it is a just punishment for my offenses. If only he might live! Nothing else matters."