IV
“Alas, monsieur!” said Mademoiselle Verbena in her silvery voice, “I go to see my poor mother.”
“But I understood that she was dying in Paris.”
“Even so. But, when I reached the Rue St. Honoré, I found that they had removed to Algiers. It was the only chance, the doctor said—a warm climate, the sun of Africa. There was no time to let me know. They took her away at once. And now I follow—perhaps to find her dead.”
Large tears rolled down her cheeks. Mr. Greyne was deeply affected.
“Let us hope for the best,” he exclaimed, seized by a happy inspiration.
The Levantine strove to smile.
“But you, monsieur, why are you here? Ah! perhaps madame is with you! Let me go to her! Let me kiss her dear hands once more——”
Mr. Greyne mournfully checked her fond excitement.