"Know well, at least, that I shall never be an obstacle to your happiness; my Eve would not know how to make an unworthy choice."
The young girl bent her head and remained silent. Mme. du Castellet observed her sadly.
"Eve," said she, "you answer nothing?"
"What can I answer?" murmured the heiress, "I ask myself," she said with feeling. "My good father," she said again, "words are wanting to express to you my gratitude and my tenderness."
"Then from what does she suffer?" the marquis asked himself in despair.
As a flower scorched by the sun, Eve languished; the fever disappeared, but her strength did not return. Her only pleasure was to put on, one after another, the freshest of her jasmine wreaths.
The doctors understood nothing of her illness; the most skilful of all interrogated the governess.
"I fear that this young girl is struck by a moral hurt; love, when it is opposed, sometimes presents analogous symptoms."
"We have been beforehand with your question, doctor; Eve knows that her choice would be approved; she made no response."
"Has she pronounced any name in her delirium?"