"I was right. He is here!" she thought, and flung herself down on the floor in the darkness and listened with her ear against the door.
It was Mme. Lorraine's clear, bell-like voice that was speaking. It ceased its impassioned utterances at last, and a deep, rich, manly voice replied to her—a familiar voice that made Marie's heart beat tumultuously and a sweet, warm color glow in her cheeks.
"It is he," she whispered, forgetting hunger, weariness, everything unpleasant in exquisite relief and joy.
[CHAPTER XVIII.]
Almost a week had elapsed since the last visit of Mme. Lorraine to Eliot Van Zandt.
During that time he had been very ill from the fever brought on by his agitation at her indiscreet announcement of the death of the girl in whom he had been so warmly interested.
All Mima's skill and care had been required to ward off a fatal consequence to this relapse, and the woman had sternly forbidden any more calls from her mistress during this critical state. Mme. Lorraine was so frightened that she was very obedient to the mandate; but now the embargo had been removed, and she was free to visit the fascinating patient.
He was better. Indeed, he was rapidly convalescing, owing to Mima's good nursing, aided by his youth and a strong constitution.