He saw, as he answered, that she caught his fear, that hers now had the same shape as his.
“Monsieur Emile, you—you don’t think—?”
Her voice faltered, her bright eyes became changed, dim, seemed to sink into her head.
“You must go to her room. Go to Madre, Monsieur Emile, Go! Speak to her! Make her answer! Make her! make her!”
She put her hands on him. She pushed him frantically.
He took her hands and held them tightly.
“I am going, Vere. Don’t be frightened!”
“But you are frightened! You are frightened!”
“I will speak to your mother. I will beg her to answer.”
“And if she doesn’t answer?”