“Then share her fate,” muttered Nardi, shrugging his shoulders as he departed.
Even in this brief interval a marked change had taken place in the countess's looks. The flush in her cheeks had given way to deathly pallor, but the fire in her large black eyes burnt yet more fiercely. As Bonnivet re turned, she started up from the couch on which she had sunk, and caught hold of his arm.
“What has he told you?” she demanded, gazing at him as if to search into his soul. “I know he thinks me ill—very ill—but he does not suspect—ha!” And she paused.
“No, no; calm yourself,” rejoined Bonnivet, endeavouring to reassure her. “There is no danger. But he charged me to reiterate his order that you should retire to rest immediately.”
“But I do not choose to obey him,” she rejoined. “I do not want to part with you. I feel better—much better. Come and sit beside me,” she added, returning to the couch, “and let us renew the discourse which the doctor interrupted. I will leave Milan to-morrow. If you march to Lodi or Pavia, I may accompany you—may I not?”
Bonnivet made no reply.
“You do not seem pleased by the proposition,” she continued. “Do you not wish to have me near you?”
“Oh! this is more than I can bear!” exclaimed Bonnivet, unable to repress his emotion.
The countess gazed at him bewildered,
“Your looks affright me,” she said, “I am sure Doctor Nardi has told you more about me than you are——