ech you, do something for her!"

"Where is she?"

"In her room with the notary."

"And M. Noirtier?"

"Just as he was, his mind perfectly clear, but the same incapability of
moving or speaking."

"And the same love for you--eh, my dear child?"

"Yes," said Valentine, "he was very fond of me."

"Who does not love you?" Valentine smiled sadly. "What are your
grandmother's symptoms?"

"An extreme nervous excitement and a strangely agitated sleep; she
fancied this morning in her sleep that her soul was hovering above her
body, which she at the same time watched. It must have been delirium;
she fancies, too, that she saw a phantom enter her chamber and even
heard the noise it made on touching her glass."

"It is singular," said the doctor; "I was not aware that Madame de
Saint-Meran was subject to such hallucinations."

"It is the first time I ever saw her in this condition," said Valentine;
"and this morning she frightened me so that I thought her mad; and my
father, who you know is a strong-minded man, himself appeared deeply
impressed."

"We will go and see," said the doctor; "what you tell me seems very
strange." The notary here descended, and Valentine was informed that her
grandmother was alone. "Go upstairs," she said to the doctor.

"And you?"

"Oh, I dare not--she forbade my sending for you; and, as you say, I am
myself agitated, feverish and out of sorts. I will go and take a turn in
the garden to recover myself." The doctor pressed Valentine's hand, and
while he visited her grandmother, she descended the steps. We need not
say which portion of the garden was her favorite walk. After remaining
for a short time in the parterre surrounding the house, and gathering
a rose to place in her waist or hair, she turned into the dark avenue
which led to the bench; then from the bench she went to the gate.
As usual, Valentine strolled for a short time among her flowers, but
without gathering them. The mourning in her heart forbade her assuming
this simple ornament, though she had not yet had time to put on the
outward semblance of woe. She then turned towards the avenue. As she
advanced she fancied she heard a voice speaking her name. She stopped
astonished, then the voice reached her ear more distinctly, and she
recognized it to be that of Maximilian.

Chapter 73. The Promise.

It was, indeed, Maximilian Morrel, who had passed a wretched existence
since the previous day. With the instinct peculiar to