'What is the matter with him?' said Miss Anna, dryly.
Eugénie hesitated; then she bent forward, the colour rushing again into her cheeks.
'I think'—her voice was low and hurried, and she looked round her to see that the door was shut and they were really alone—'I think it has been an attack of depression—perhaps—perhaps melancholia. He has had great misfortunes and disappointments. Unfortunately, my father and I were abroad, and did not understand. But, thank God!'—she clasped her hands involuntarily—'I got home yesterday—I went to see him—just in time—'
She paused, looking at her companion as though she asked for the understanding which would save her further words. But Miss Anna sat puzzled and cold.
'Just in time?' she repeated.
'I didn't understand at first,' said Eugénie, with emotion; 'I only saw that he was ill and terribly broken. But he has told me since—in a letter I got just before I started. And I want you to advise me—to tell me whether you think Mrs. Fenwick should know—'
'Know what?' cried Miss Anna.
Madame de Pastourelles bent forward again, and said a few words under her breath.
Anna Mason recoiled.
'Horrible!' she said; 'and—and so cowardly! So like a man!'