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She did not sleep last night, and--"
"No, no, the real matter, Monsieur Emile."
"What do you mean, Vere?"
The girl looked excited. Her own words had revealed to her a feeling
of which till then she had only been vaguely aware.
"Madre has seemed different lately," she said--"been different. I am
sure she has. What is it?"
As the girl spoke, and looked keenly at him with her bright, searching
eyes, a thought came, like a flash, upon Artois--a thought that almost
frightened him. He could not tell it to Vere, and almost immediately
he thrust it away from his mind. But Vere had seen that something had
come to him.
"You know what it is!" she said.
"I don't know."
"Monsieur Emile!"
Her voice was full of reproach.
"Vere, I am telling you the truth," he said, earnestly. "If there is
anything seriously troubling your mother I do not know what it is. She
has sorrows, of course. You know that."
"This is something fresh," the girl said. She thrust forward her
little chin decisively.


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