And in an ecstasy of rage and love I kissed her passionately, and at the very moment my lips met hers her dark blue eyes opened wide and looked full into mine. Was it the reflection of my own eyes that I beheld in hers or did they really shine with a tender light? Did her fingers really return my pressure, or was it but the effect of my imagination? I could not tell. She had returned to her unconscious state again. The old woman had risen to her feet, and was regarding me with a superb contempt that would have done credit to the prince of darkness.
"So you, then, are the rival of whom my boy speaks in his dreams—you!" she exclaimed with a gesture of disdain. "And do you hope to win this lady from him—you? It will not be by the beauty of your face, then. Compared with you, my boy is an angel."
"I thank you for your services," I replied coldly, "but I can dispense with them, and with your compliments too. I wish you good-day, madame."
And, seeing that my uncle could not find a vessel in which to convey the water, I lifted Daphne and carried her over to him. The old dame remained standing on the spot where I had left her, and, after contemplating me for a few seconds, walked off with a stately air.
"What have you done to offend our good bonne?" asked my uncle, as he sprinkled Daphne's face and throat with water.
"Who do you think she is?"
"Florence Nightingale?"
"Angelo's nurse. She was instituting comparisons between your humble servant and her oil-and-colour protégé; so I dismissed her."
Very slowly Daphne recovered from her swoon, smiling faintly at her weakness, and very tenderly did I lead her to a seat.