The young baronet waited for no breakfast. He seized his hat, tore out of the hotel, sprung into a fiacre, and was whirled at once to the pension.
Madame came to him to the parlor, her lace handkerchief to her eyes. Mademoiselle was very ill. Monsieur could not see her, of course, but he must not despair.
Doctor Pillule had hopes. She was so young, so strong; but the shock of her father's death must have been preying on her mind. Madame's sympathy was inexpressible.
Harriet lay ill for many days--delirious often, murmuring things pitiably small, calling on her father, on her lover--sometimes on her horses and dogs. The physician was skillful, and life won the battle. But it was a weary time before they let her descend to the parlor to see that impatient lover of hers.
It was very near Christmas, and there was snow on the ground, when she came slowly down one evening to see him. He sat alone in the prime salon, where the porcelain stove stood, with its handful of fire, looking gloomily out at the feathery flakes whirling through the leaden twilight. He turned round as she glided in, so unlike herself, so like a spirit, that his heart stood still.
"My love! my love!"
It was all he could say. He took her in his arms, so worn, so wasted, so sad; wan as the fluttering snow without. All his man's heart overflowed with infinite love and pity as he held that frail form in his strong clasp.
"Dear Everard, I have been so ill and so lonely; I wanted you so much!"
He drew her to him as if he would never let her go again.
"If I could only be with you always, my darling. It is cruel to keep us apart for a year."
"It was poor papa's wish, Everard."
Presently madame came in, and there were lights, and bustle, and separation. Mme. Hunsden must not remain too long, must not excite herself. Monsieur must go away, and come again to-morrow.
"I will let her see you every day, poor, homesick child, until she is well enough to go into the classe and commence her studies. Then, not so often. But monsieur will be gone long before that!"
"No," Sir Everard said, distinctly. "I remain in Paris for the winter. I trust to madame's kind heart to permit me to see Miss Hunsden often."
"Often! Ah, mon Dieu! how you English are impetuous! so--how do you call him?--unreasonable! Monsieur may see mademoiselle in the salon every Saturday afternoon--not oftener."