However, it seemed to him that she was pale, that her eyes were red and swollen, that her hand trembled in his. He inquired affectionately concerning her health.
"I am all right," said Constance; "I am not sick; there's nothing the matter with me."
But her tone seemed to contradict her words.
The day passed, and Frédéric was surprised to see that Constance made no preparations for Sister Anne's departure and her own. He ventured at last to mention the subject.
"I have changed my mind," said Constance, struggling to conceal her emotion; "I don't see why that young woman should leave the house; she is so happy with us! Her presence cannot be disagreeable to you; on the other hand, her absence might cause you too much regret."
"What do you say?" cried Frédéric.
"No, she shall not go," continued Constance, coldly; apparently not noticing her husband's bewilderment. "It is useless now."
With that, she turned away and shut herself up in her own apartment. Frédéric did not know what to think of that sudden change of plan; but that evening Constance's maid went to the pavilion, at her bidding, and informed Sister Anne that she was to live on at the pavilion; that there was no further question of her going away.
The dumb girl was greatly surprised; but her heart could not be indifferent to the bliss of remaining near Frédéric. She was astonished, however, that her benefactress, who had been so unvaryingly kind to her, did not come to her and explain her change of plan. Several days passed, and she did not see Madame de Montreville. The same attention was paid to her comfort and her son's, but her benefactress had ceased to visit the occupants of the pavilion.
Constance passed all her time in her own room; she did not say a word to Frédéric; but her face was drawn and haggard; it was evident that she was suffering and that she was doing her utmost to conceal it. Frédéric hardly dared to question her, and when he did she always answered gently: