"Well," he said, after a moment's hesitation, "you'll forgive me for
saying so, but I don't think that in this affair you've told me exactly
the truth."
"What do you mean?" I inquired quickly.
"I mean that when you parted from her this afternoon you were not
altogether good friends."
"You are mistaken," I assured him. "We were as good friends as ever
before."
"No high words passed between you?"
"None."
"And nothing that you told her caused her any sudden grief? Are you
quite certain of this?" he asked, looking at me very fixedly through his
glasses.
"I made one observation which certainly caused her surprise," I
admitted. "Nothing else."
"Was it only surprise?" he asked very calmly.
"Surprise mingled with fear."
"Ah!" he ejaculated, as though obtaining some intelligence by this
admission of mine. "And may I not know the nature of the information
you gave her?"
"No, Dick," I responded. "It is a secret--her secret."
He was silent.
"You refuse to tell me?" he said disappointedly.
"I am unable," I replied.
"And if I judge rightly, it is this secret which has parted you?"
"No, it is not," I answered. "That's the most curious part of the whole
affair. The very existence of the secret has brought us together
again."
"You mean that you have forsaken Edith and returned to her?" he
observed, raising his brows slightly in surprise.
"No; don't put it in that way," I implored. "I have not yet forsaken
Edith."
He smiled, just a trifle superciliously, I thought.
"And the Countess is also in possession of this mysterious secret--eh?"
"Of that I am not at all certain," I replied.
He sniffed in distinct suspicion that what I had told him was not the
truth. At the same instant, however, the Countess entered and demanded
to know the condition of her child.
"She is much better, madame," he answered. "Perfect quiet is, however,
necessary, and constant observation of the temperature. To-morrow, or
the day after, you may, I think, see her."
"Not till then!" she cried. "I cannot wait so long."
"But it is necessary. Your daughter's life hangs upon a single thread."
She was silenced, for she saw that argument was useless.
A few minutes later Jean entered with a message from Trepard asking Dick
and myself to consult with him. We therefore left the Countess again,
and passed along the corridor to the room in which my love of long ago
was lying. As we entered she lifted her hand slowly to me in sign of
recognition, and in an instant I was at her side.
"Yolande!" I cried, taking her hand, so different now that death had
been defeated by life. "Yolande! my darling," I burst forth
involuntarily, "you have come back to me!"
A sweet, glad smile spread over her beautiful face, leaving an
expression of calm and perfect contentment, as in a low, uncertain
voice, as though of one speaking afar off, she asked:
"Gerald, is it actually you?"
"Yes," I said, "of course it is. These two gentlemen are doctors," I
added. "This is my old friend Deane; and the other is Doctor Trepard,
of whom I daresay you have heard."
She nodded to them both in acknowledgment of their kind expressions;
then in a few low words inquired what had happened to her. She seemed
in utter ignorance of it all.
"You were found lying on the floor of the little salon soon after I
left, and they thought you were dead," I explained. "Cannot you tell us
how it occurred?"
A puzzled expression settled upon her face, as though she were trying to
remember.
"I recollect nothing," she declared.
"But you surely remember how you were attacked?" I urged.
"Attacked!" she echoed in surprise. "No one attacked me."
"I did not mean that," I answered, rather puzzled at her quick protest.
"I meant that you were probably aware of the symptoms which preceded
your unconsciousness."
"I felt a strange dizziness and a curious tightness in the throat and
chest. That is all I remember. All became blank until I opened my eyes
again and found myself lying here, with these two gentlemen standing at
my side. The duration of my unconsciousness did not appear to me longer
than a few minutes."
"Then mademoiselle has no idea of the cause of her strange illness?"
inquired Deane in French. "None whatever, m'sieur."
"Tell us one fact," he urged. "During the time which elapsed between
your parting with M'sieur Ingram and your sudden unconsciousness, did
anyone enter the room?"
"No one; of that I am absolutely certain."
"How were you occupied during that time?"
"I was writing a letter."
"And before you rose did you feel the curious giddiness?"
"No, not until after I stood up. I tried to shout and attract help, but
could not. Then I reached to press the bell, but stumbled forward, and
the next instant I was lost in what seemed to be a dense fog."
"Curious!" ejaculated Trepard, who stood by with folded arms, eagerly
listening to every word--"very curious!"
"Did you feel any strange sensation on the left side of your neck
beneath the ear, or upon your lower lip?" inquired Deane earnestly.
She reflected for a moment, then said:
"Now that I remember, there was a curious numbness of my lip."
"Followed immediately by unconsciousness?"
"Yes, almost immediately."
The doctors exchanged glances, which showed that the mark upon the lip
was the chief enigma of the situation.
Trepard glanced at his watch, dissolved yet another pillule of hydrated
peroxide of iron, and handed her the draught to swallow. The antidote
had acted almost like magic.
"You are absolutely certain that no person entered the room after Ingram
had left?" repeated Deane, as though not yet satisfied.
"Absolutely."
Dick Deane turned his eyes full upon me, and I divined his thoughts. He
was reflecting upon the conversation held between us before we entered
that room. He was endeavouring to worm from her some clue to her
secret.
"My mother knows that I am recovering?" she went on. "If she does not,
please tell her. She has been so distressed of late that this must have
been the crowning blow to her."
"I have told madame your mother everything," I said. "Do not be uneasy
on her account."
"Ah," she sighed, "how I regret that we came to Paris! I regret it all,
Gerald, save that you and I have met again;" and she stretched out her
hand until it came into contact with my coat-button, with which she
toyed like a child.
"And this meeting has really given you satisfaction?" I whispered to
her, heedless of the presence of the others.
"Not only satisfaction," she answered, so softly that I alone could
catch her words, and looking into my face with that expression of
passionate affection which can never be simulated; "it has given back to
me a desire for happiness, for life, for love."
There were tears in those wonderful blue eyes, and her small hand
trembled within my grasp. My heart at that moment was too full for mere
words. True, I loved her with a mad fondness that I had never before
entertained for any woman; yet, nevertheless, a hideous shadow arose
between us, shutting her off from me for ever--the shadow of her
secret--the secret that she, my well-beloved, was actually a spy.