She waited tensely for the answer.
“Blaise has been here. He asked me to go away with him. I’ve sent him back to Nesta.”
The short, stilted sentences fell mechanically from her lips. She spoke exactly like a child repeating a lesson learned by rote.
Claire’s eyes grew very pitiful.
“And must you go to Beirnfels alone?” she asked quietly. “Won’t you take me with you?”
“Will you come?”—incredulously.
“Of course I’ll come. I shouldn’t dream of letting you go by yourself.”
And then, all at once, Jean’s tired body, exhausted by the soul’s long conflict, gave way, and she slipped to the ground in a dead faint.