What
harm could she do if she tried? What did she mean by being richly
dowered? Had she any fortune that I did not know of? Her words were
mysterious. Strange to say, the same nervous forebodings that had seized
Clare seized me.
Evil would come of it; how or why I could not imagine, but it would
come. I felt it gathering round me; then I laughed at myself, at my own
foolish fancy.
Yet the same fancy had shaken me so that when I went into Clare's room
to say "Good night," she asked me if I were ill, and would not be
satisfied until I laughingly told her my happiness had been too much for
me.
I felt shy as a girl the next morning at the thought of coming
downstairs to meet mademoiselle. Nor was I quite devoid of some little
fear. Would she be sorrowful, resigned, pathetic, angry, or what? It was
impossible to tell.
Imagine my surprise on opening the breakfast-room door to find her
already at the table, looking blooming and beautiful as a June rose. She
greeted me gayly, with bright smiles and bright words. I might have
thought all the passion, the sorrow and despair of last night a dream.
Only too happy to imitate her, I began to talk of a score of indifferent
matters.
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