Then she interrogated herself with a simple severity:
"Would I then be culpable for not speaking of that of which I am myself ignorant?"
Her conscience responded by a firm resolution not to carry trouble to the hearts of all those who cherished her. "My duty, I feel, is to rejoice at the happiness of Gaston and of Louise. Do I deceive myself? My God! enlighten me, guide me!"
Eve was kneeling; the Marquis de La Tour-d'Adam, assisted by his valet, entered, and in a reproachful tone--
"Why do you fatigue yourself thus?" said he; "Eve, I implore thee, be careful of thy strength, if only out of pity for me."
Eve arose with difficulty.
"Forgive me," she said with a sweet smile, "I will not kneel again until I am cured."
Then she sat by her grandfather's side. The marquis, frightened at her mortal pallor, contemplated her with anguish.
"I saw her father perish in the flower of his age," he thought; "her mother a few months after died in giving her life; she was an orphan from her cradle. All my affections are concentrated in her; she has never given me occasion for the least pain. Alas! I suffer to-day for all the happiness she has given me."
"Do not distress yourself, my father," said Eve, who surprised a tear in the old man's dry eyes; "I have asked of God to let me remain to console the rest of your days; my prayer has been heard, it will be granted. Oh, for pity, do not cry more."