M. Casimir stepped forward. "A great misfortune, mademoiselle, a
terrible misfortune. The count----"

And he paused, frightened by what he was about to say.

But Mademoiselle Marguerite had understood him. She clasped both
hands to her heart, as if she had received a fatal wound, and
uttered the single word: "Lost!"

The next moment she turned as pale as death, her head drooped, her
eyes closed, and she staggered as if about to fall. Two maids
sprang forward to support her, but she gently repulsed them,
murmuring, "Thanks! thanks! I am strong now."

She was, in fact, sufficiently strong to conquer her weakness.
She summoned all her resolution, and, paler than a statue, with
set teeth and dry, glittering eyes, she approached the alcove.
She stood there for a moment perfectly motionless, murmuring a few
unintelligible words; but at last, crushed by her sorrow, she sank
upon her knees beside the bed, buried her face in the counterpane
and wept.

Deeply moved by the sight of this despair, the servants held their
breath, wondering how it would all end. It ended suddenly. The
girl sprang from her knees, as if a gleam of hope had darted
through her heart. "A physician!" she said, eagerly.

"I have sent for one, mademoiselle," replied M. Casimir. And
hearing a voice and a sound of footsteps on the staircase, he