r lethargy.

"What is it?" said she, starting at Madame Danglars' touch as she would
have done from an electric shock. "It is, my dear Valentine," said the
baroness, "that you are, doubtless, suffering."

"I?" said the young girl, passing her hand across her burning forehead.

"Yes, look at yourself in that glass; you have turned pale and then red
successively, three or four times in one minute."

"Indeed," cried Eugenie, "you are very pale!"

"Oh, do not be alarmed; I have been so for many days." Artless as she
was, the young girl knew that this was an opportunity to leave,
and besides, Madame de Villefort came to her assistance. "Retire,
Valentine," said she; "you are really suffering, and these ladies will
excuse you; drink a glass of pure water, it will restore you." Valentine
kissed Eugenie, bowed to Madame Danglars, who had already risen to take
her leave, and went out. "That poor child," said Madame de Villefort
when Valentine was gone, "she makes me very uneasy, and I should not be
astonished if she had some serious illness."

Meanwhile, Valentine, in a sort of excitement which she could not quite
understand, had crossed Edward's room without noticing some trick of
the child, and through her own had reached the little staircase. She was
within three steps of the bottom; she already heard Morrel's voice, when
suddenly a cloud passed over her eyes, her stiffened foot missed the
step, her hands had no power to hold the baluster, and falling against
the wall she lost her balance wholly and toppled to the floor. Morrel
bounded to the door, opened it, and found Valentine stretched out at the
bottom of the stairs. Quick as a flash, he raised her in his arms and
placed her in a chair. Valentine opened her eyes.

"Oh, what a clumsy thing I am," said she with feverish volubility;
"I don't know my way. I forgot there were three more steps before the
landing."

"You have hurt yourself, perhaps," said Morrel. "What can I do for you,
Valentine?" Valentine looked around her; she saw the deepest terror
depicted in Noirtier's eyes. "Don't worry, dear grandpapa," said she,
endeavoring to smile; "it is nothing--it is nothing; I was giddy, that
is all."

"Another attack of giddiness," said Morrel, clasping his hands. "Oh,
attend to it, Valentine, I entreat you."

"But no," said Valentine,--"no, I tell you it is all past, and it was
nothing. Now, let me tell you some news; Eugenie is to be married in
a week, and in three