"What do you fear?"
"That last night's fright has disordered her reason."
"Heaven forbid! I will go to her at once."
He left the room as he spoke, and ran upstairs to the chamber of the seamstress. The gray morning twilight stole drearily through the closed shutter, and the lamp burned dim and dismal still. Babette sat by the bedside trying to soothe her charge in very bad English, and evidently but with little success. The bed-clothes had been tossed off, the little thin hands closed and unclosed in them—the great dark eyes were wide and wild—the black hair all tossed and disordered on the pillow.
Babette rose precipitately at the Doctor's entrance.
"Here's the Doctor, Mees Darling. May I go now, Monsieur?"
"Yes, you may go; but remain outside, in case I should, want you."
He shut the door on Babette, and took her place by the sick girl's bedside.
Babette lingered in the passage, staring at the stormy morning, and gaping forlornly.
"I hope he won't be long," she thought. "I want to go to bed."