“But it is necessary. Your daughter’s life hangs upon a single thread.”
She was silenced, for she saw that argument was useless.
A few minutes later Jean entered with a message from Trépard asking Dick and myself to consult with him. We therefore left the Countess again, and passed along the corridor to the room in which my love of long ago was lying. As we entered she lifted her hand slowly to me in sign of recognition, and in an instant I was at her side.
“Yolande!” I cried, taking her hand, so different now that death had been defeated by life. “Yolande! my darling,” I burst forth involuntarily, “you have come back to me!”
A sweet, glad smile spread over her beautiful face, leaving an expression of calm and perfect contentment, as in a low, uncertain voice, as though of one speaking afar off, she asked:
“Gerald, is it actually you?”
“Yes,” I said, “of course it is. These two gentlemen are doctors,” I added. “This is my old friend Deane; and the other is Doctor Trépard, of whom I daresay you have heard.”
She nodded to them both in acknowledgment of their kind expressions; then in a few low words inquired what had happened to her. She seemed in utter ignorance of it all.
“You were found lying on the floor of the little salon soon after I left, and they thought you were dead,” I explained. “Cannot you tell us how it occurred?”
A puzzled expression settled upon her face, as though she were trying to remember.