“Yass'm, yass'm,” Lindy sobbed, “I reckon I'se done seed 'nuf of it, Mistis.” And she went into a hysterical fit of weeping.
The Vicomtesse turned to her own frightened servants in the doorway, bade André in French to run for Dr. Perrin, and herself closed the battened doors. There was a moment when her face as I saw it was graven on my memory, reflecting a knowledge of the evils of this world, a spirit above and untouched by them, a power to accept what life may bring with no outward sign of pleasure or dismay. Doubtless thus she had made King and Cardinal laugh, doubtless thus, ministering to those who crossed her path, she had met her own calamities. Strangest of all was the effect she had upon Lindy, for the girl ceased crying as she watched her.
Madame la Vicomtesse turned to me.
“You must go at once,” she said. “When you get to Madame Gravois's, write to Mr. Temple. I will send André to you there.”
She started for the bedroom door, Lindy making way for her. I scarcely knew what I did as I sprang forward and took the Vicomtesse by the arm.
“Where are you going?” I cried. “You cannot go in there! You cannot go in there!”
It did not seem strange that she turned to me without anger, that she did not seek to release her arm. It did not seem strange that her look had in it a gentleness as she spoke.
“I must,” she said.
“I cannot let you risk your life,” I cried, wholly forgetting myself; “there are others who will do this.”
“Others?” she said.