He is such a queer boy."
She was evidently under the impression that I knew something definite
about this person who, in spite of his suggestive name, seemed timid
and strange as a fawn, but as I had a burning desire to know
everything about Hortense's illness I was not tempted to indulge this
secondary curiosity, so his name was summarily abandoned for the dear
invalid's.
Madame de Beaumont could not account in any definite or satisfactory
manner for her daughter's present condition. It was the result, she
said, of a growing indisposition that had stolen over her lately, and
this was why her fears had such little hope lest her complaint should
prove a constitutional decline that would baffle all the skilful
efforts of her physicians.
"She began," the mother said in a voice of sobs, "by renouncing all
her pleasures. She did not care for one thing and was too tired for
another. She took no interest in anything that had distracted her
before; she would only read, and write letters to you and in the end
she renounced even these relaxations. The doctors suspect that some
mental strain may have been worrying her, but I can think of none. All
that we could do to make her happy and comfortable we did, and I have
never heard her complain, or wish for anything that she had not
already. What will I do if I lose her?" Madame de Beaumont suddenly
cried, burying her face in her hands and weeping bitterly. "Her
father, you know, died of consumption," she added in a hopeless
whisper, raising her head and looking at me sorrowfully.
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