“Yes, I suffer. I suffer horribly.” Clarinda wrung her hands in despair. They dropped listlessly over the edge of the chair.
“From what, Madame? Why should you suffer? You have everything.”
“I must talk. I’ve no one to talk to.” Clarinda wept as she spoke and the great tears fell down her cheeks.
“Ah! Madame, I pity you, tell me. I will be discreet. I promise! I swear! It might do you good. It might spare you something. I might be able to help.”
Clarinda arose and walked about the room. She went hastily from one end to the other. Her arms beat the air. Occasionally she brushed the tears from her cheeks. Her eyes were bright as they had been, like two burning stars.
“Listen, Tizzia!” she commanded.
“I am listening, Madame.”
Clarinda increased her pace. She almost ran from one end of the place to the other. The filmy garment she wore trailed behind her in the wind she made. Her feet were bare and she spoke so rapidly she was almost incoherent.
“Can you imagine, to what a condition I have fallen? I, Clarinda! It can’t be true. It must be a horrible dream. He said I killed my father, the person I adored. It is not true. It is impossible. I loved him and I don’t believe he is dead. I didn’t go to his funeral. Peter says I killed him. Tizzia, I hate Peter!” and she turned and looked into the frightened face of the maid.
“Madame!” she exclaimed.