er the call, found Henri nervously walking about
from one drawing-room to the other; and, having received information as
to the details of the fall, he soon entered the bedchamber. While
awaiting the sentence of life or of death which must soon be pronounced,
he who considered himself the chief cause of this tragic event continued
to pace to and fro in the gallery--that gallery where, under the
intoxication of a waltz, the demon of temptation had so quickly
demolished all his resolutions of resistance. A half-hour--an
age!--elapsed before the skilled practitioner reappeared. "There is no
fracture," he said, "but the cerebral shock has been such that I can not
as yet answer for the consequences. If the powerful reactive medicine
which I have just given should bring her back to her senses soon, her
mental faculties will suffer no harm. If not, there is everything to
fear. I will return in three hours," he added. Without giving a thought
to the conventionalities, Henri entered the bedchamber, to the great
astonishment of the maids, and, installing himself at the head of the
bed, he decided not to leave that spot until Valentine had regained her
senses, should she ever regain them. An hour passed thus, while Henri
kept the same attitude, erect, attentive, motionless, with stray scraps
of his childhood's prayers running through his brain. Suddenly the heavy
eyelids of the wounded girl were lifted; the dulness of the eyes
disappeared; her body made an involuntary attempt to change its position;
the nostrils dilated; the lips quivered in an effort to speak. Youth and
life had triumphed over death. With painful slowness, she tried to raise
her hand to her head, the seat of her pain, where, though half paralyzed,
thought was beginning to return. Her eyes wandered to and fro in the
shadowy room, seeking to recognize the surroundings. A ray of light,
filtering through the window-curtains, showed her the anxious face
bending tenderly over her. "Henri!" she murmured, in a soft, plaintive
voice. That name, pronounced thus, the first word uttered after her long
swoon, revealed her secret. Never had a more complete yet modest avowal
been more simply expressed; was it not natural that he should be present
at her reentrance into life, since she loved him? With women, the
sentiment of love responds to the most diverse objects. The ordinary
young girl of Zibeline's age, either before or after her sojourn in a
convent, considers that a man of