"Of course she won't speak; but her gestures, the expression of her face, will say enough."

"Indeed! well, I give you my word that I often can't understand her at all."

Dubourg tortured his brain to find some method of sending away Sister Anne and her son. Menard sat with his eyes fixed on his snuff-box, and pretended to be equally engrossed by that subject, but in reality his thoughts were full of a pate of hare which had arrived from Paris the night before, and which they were to attack at dinner.

Constance returned to the house with the dumb girl and the child; Sister Anne's face still bore traces of suffering, but she was calmer and more resigned; when she saw Dubourg, she smiled sadly at him, and presented her son, at whom he gazed with interest, dismayed by the striking resemblance between his features and his father's.

"Don't you think he's a lovely boy?" said Constance.

"Yes, madame," Dubourg replied, as he kissed the child; "he's very pretty."

"Does he look like his father?"

"Very much."

"And don't you think he has a look of my husband?"

"Oh! not the slightest!"

"That's strange; it impressed me at once. His name is Frederic, too, the dear child; I believe that I love him the more for that."

As she spoke, Constance took the child in her arms; Sister Anne watched her, deeply moved, and Dubourg turned his face away to conceal the sensations aroused by that scene.

During the rest of the day, Dubourg cudgelled his brain to think how he could bring about Sister Anne's departure from Madame de Montreville's house, but he could not decide upon any plan. How was he to remove her from a luxurious home, where the most affectionate attentions were lavished upon her, and where her son was overwhelmed with caresses?

Would not Sister Anne, far from consenting to such a plan, refuse to see therein anything more than shocking ingrat.i.tude, of which her loving, grateful heart was utterly incapable? To tell her that Constance's husband was her seducer would not avail to induce her to go away, for her intense longing to see Frederic would prevail in her heart over every other consideration. She conceived herself to be united to her lover by the oaths they had exchanged; could she imagine that another woman had rights, more sacred at least, if not more equitable, than her own?

Dubourg dared not risk that method, and he tormented himself in vain to find another. At last he went to Menard, and said to him:

"Well, have you thought of any expedient to induce Sister Anne to leave this house?"

And Menard, after taking a pinch of snuff and reflecting for five minutes, led Dubourg into a corner and replied in an undertone:

"I can't think of anything at all."

While talking with Constance, Dubourg tried to persuade her to send the dumb girl to live on one of her estates at some distance from Paris; but Madame de Montreville scouted the suggestion with much earnestness.

"Why," she said, "should I deprive myself of this young woman's company, and of the presence of her son, whom I love as if he belonged to me? If the unhappy creature were not under my eyes, would she receive all the attentions that tend to alleviate her position? No; I shall never part with her; every day I feel that I become more and more attached to her.

If you knew how grateful she is to me for everything I do for her! Ah! I have read to the very bottom of her heart; I have not misplaced my benefactions, and I am certain that Frederic will not blame me."

"Well," said Dubourg to himself, "I have done all I could; and even if I should give myself the jaundice trying to separate these two women, I fancy that I shouldn't succeed; I'll just let things take their course, and see what happens. The most that I can do will be to warn Frederic when he comes home."

On the evening after Dubourg's arrival, Constance said to him:

"I want you to see what pleasure my unfortunate companion derives from music; when she hears me play and sing, it always seems to me as if she were going to speak."

She took Sister Anne's hand and led her to a seat near the piano; the dumb girl was more melancholy than usual; Dubourg's presence had revived all her sorrows; however, she smiled at her benefactress, and did her utmost to appear less downcast.

Constance had played several pieces, when she said:

"I believe I have never sung her that pretty little thing that my husband likes so much."

She played the prelude to the air. Dubourg paid little attention to the music; he was still thinking of the strange chance that had brought Sister Anne and Frederic's wife together. Menard was sitting in a corner of the salon, doing all that he could to understand the music; and little Frederic was playing near his mother, who listened intently to her benefactress.

Constance had no sooner sung the first words of the ballad than Sister Anne manifested an emotion which seemed to increase with every measure; she leaned toward the singer, listening with all her ears, and hardly breathing; her whole body shook, all her faculties were absorbed by an overpowering memory; and before Constance had finished the first stanza, a deadly pallor overspread the dumb girl's features; she uttered a plaintive moan, and fainted.

Intent upon her music as she was, Constance had not observed Sister Anne's agitation; but when she heard her groan, she sprang to her feet and flew to her side.

"Great G.o.d!" she exclaimed; "what is the matter with her? She is unconscious!"

Dubourg hastened to her a.s.sistance, while Menard ran to fetch salts and call the servants.

"Can you imagine what upset her? She was listening to me with evident pleasure, and suddenly she fainted."

"Madame," said Dubourg, attempting to take advantage of this incident, "haven't you noticed that this young woman is not always in her right mind; that there are moments when she seems--rather light-headed?"

"Why, no; I have never noticed anything of the sort. Since she has been here, she has always been very reasonable, and her depression seems perfectly natural to me. Poor dear! she doesn't open her eyes."

"Oh! this will amount to nothing; probably her emotion when she saw me this morning is the cause of her swoon."

"I am inclined to think so."

Menard returned, armed with a dozen bottles of salts. For a long while, all their efforts were unavailing: Sister Anne did not recover consciousness, and Constance was in despair; at last, a long-drawn sigh announced that the sufferer was returning to life, and she soon opened her eyes. Her first thought was for her son; he was too young to realize his mother's danger, and had not interrupted his play. Sister Anne took him in her arms and kissed him, then looked at all those who stood about her, as if to thank them for their kindness.

"Come with me, and go to bed," said Madame de Montreville; "all your sorrow has been revived to-day, and you must forget it in sleep."

But, instead of following her, Sister Anne took her hand, led her to the piano, and motioned to her to sit down again.

"No, to-morrow," said Constance; "the music excites you too much. I will sing to you to-morrow."

Sister Anne clasped her hands, and her glance was so expressive, it besought her so earnestly to do what she desired, that Constance had not the heart to refuse; she seated herself at the piano, while Menard observed _sotto voce_:

"That young woman is pa.s.sionately fond of music; it would be a good idea to teach her to play."

Constance began an air, but Sister Anne stopped her and shook her head emphatically, as if to say: "Not that."--Thereupon she played another, but still the dumb girl was not satisfied. At last, Constance remembered that she was singing a ballad when she was interrupted; she sang it again, and had no sooner begun it than Sister Anne's emotion and the strained attention with which she listened showed plainly enough that that was what she wanted to hear.

"Just see how this ballad excites her!" said Constance; "it's the one Frederic always liked so much!"

The words were hardly out of her mouth, when Sister Anne seized her hand, pressed it with all her strength, and nodded her head. Madame de Montreville did not understand her pantomime; she looked at Dubourg, who said in an undertone:

"I a.s.sure you that there are times when she doesn't know what she is doing. She thinks that she sees her lover everywhere; love has turned her brain."

Sister Anne's agitation partially subsided; the tears forced their way to the surface and relieved the strain. Constance gazed at her with emotion, repeating again and again:

"Poor child! what a guilty wretch he was to desert you!"

For several minutes everybody was silent. Constance resorted to her usual method of allaying the young mother's suffering: she took little Frederic in her arms and carried him to her. She looked up gratefully at her benefactress, and, having covered her son with kisses, rose and prepared to go to her room.

Constance insisted on accompanying her to the pavilion; there she left her, after urging her anew to be brave.