"'I am going, Mademoiselle,' she whispered to me; 'no one has a heart here in this house. But if a hair of her head is hurt, or a tear falls from her eyes, I—I—' She gasped out a few words more, and threw herself down again beside the bed.
"'When shall you leave?' I asked.
"'Early in the morning,' she replied, in a lifeless tone.
"'Then lie down now, and go to sleep,' I said, pointing to the sofa, and prepared to leave the room.
"'Oh, Mademoiselle!' She sprang up and held me fast. 'Promise me you will be kind to Susanna, you will speak a kind word to her if she cries!'
"'Certainly, as far as I can; but she will receive only kindness from every one here.'
"'Not from the blonde lady,' she said. 'She is a girl without a heart; perhaps she never had one, perhaps it is dead. She does not know what youth, beauty, and love are. She never laughs. I notice that people who cannot laugh are envious of every being that can be happy, that pleases others by its charm; she will never love Susanna!'
"She spoke pathetically and theatrically, yet a tone of deep pain rang through her words.
"'Life is so serious,' I returned.
"'But laughing, cheerfulness, beauty are the air she breathes,' began the strange person again.