“Oh, my God!” Jean would have gone to her, but his brother laid a restraining hand on his arm.
“Leave her alone,” he said. “She will be all right to-morrow. It’s only excitement, nervous exhaustion. She must rest and eat. Wait quietly and don’t look at her.”
Jean moved restlessly about the room; Hilaire, gravely silent, seemed to see nothing.
So the two men waited until the girl was able to control her sobs.
“I am so sorry,” she said presently. “I have made you uncomfortable; forgive me.”
“Will you take a brandy-and-soda if I give it you?”
“Yes, if you think it will do me good.”
Hilaire limped across to the sideboard. He was scarcely gone half a minute, but when he came back with a glass of the mixture he had prescribed he saw his brother kneeling at the girl’s side, his arms about her, his face hidden in the folds of her skirt.
“Jean! Get up!” he said very sharply. “Pull yourself together.”
Olive sat stiffly erect; her swollen, tear-stained lids hid the blue eyes, her pale, quivering lips formed words that were inaudible.