"You know that I don't sleep at night?"
"Yes."
Miss Gabrielle looked towards the door.
"Is it shut?" she asked, excitedly.
"Of course it is."
She came close to me, her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, her face turned not only white but grey.
"I can stand it no longer," she said. "I'll tell you the truth. You wouldn't sleep either if you were me. My father isn't dead!"
"Nonsense," I replied. "You must control such imaginings, Miss Gabrielle, or you will really get into a very unhealthy condition of mind."
"That's what mother says when I speak to her," replied the child. "But I tell you, this thing is true. My father is not dead. I know it."