But, with all this, Sarah came no nearer than before to the confession of the great secret. As often as she attempted to begin, the words died upon her lips, and she covered her face and sobbed. These beginnings, and breakings off, and lamentations endured for a long time. The doctor rose, seated himself by the side of the bed, wiped his knees with the sleeve of his coat, took a pinch of snuff, and said to himself, "We may pump a well dry in time!; it would be hard if the lachrymal glands of an afflicted virgin could boast of an inexhaustible store of water."
THE BLUEST OF ALL.
He was in the right: when she could cry no longer, she believed she was recovering her Christian resolution, and said with a trembling voice, "Nephew, when you left me yesterday after that dreadful expression——"
The doctor was about to fall once more on his knees: "Pardon the expression, my angelic aunt! It was——"
"No, nephew; perhaps you were right."
"It was an unpardonable stupidity on my part."
"No, nephew; I believe you are not wrong."
"Impossible, my angelic aunt!"
"Alas! only too true, nephew."
"Impossible, aunt! And even if—even supposing—no, aunt, you are certainly——"