"And I have disturbed you——"
"At my office—merely, monsieur, at my office, which I can read at any time within the twenty-four hours."
"And how often do you do this?"
"Every day—all these pages—see!"
Her voice was so very silvery, her eyes so calm and lustrous, her hands so white and small, that it was impossible not to see that she had been highly bred, delicately nurtured, and came of some good French family.
"How long have I been here, mademoiselle?" I asked, after a pause.
"I do not know. Monsieur was here when I came."
"And who brought you to nurse me?"
"Lieutenant Jolicoeur, of the 2nd Zouaves, heard somehow that you were here, suffering under a perilous illness. An Italian surgeon chanced to mention it at the Restaurant de l'Armée d'Orient, and they brought me here. We are in the house of a rich Armenian trader—a good Christian, after his own fashion; but, O Sacre Coeur! what an odd fashion it is!"
"Ah! mademoiselle——"