She did not speak. Her veil
was thrown back and George noted instantly the look of agitation
upon her countenance.
"What's the matter?" he cried. "We didn't get any telegram from
you; we were not expecting you till tomorrow."
Still his mother did not speak.
"Henriette was just going out," he exclaimed nervously; "I had
better call her."
"No!" said his mother quickly. Her voice was low and trembling.
"I did not want Henriette to be here when I arrived."
"But what's the matter?" cried George.
Again there was a silence before the reply came. He read
something terrible in the mother's manner, and he found himself
trembling violently.
"I have brought back the child and the nurse," said Madame
Dupont.
"What! Is the little one sick?"
"Yes."
"What's the matter with her?"
"Nothing dangerous--for the moment, at least."
"We must send and get the doctor!" cried George.
"I have just come from the doctor's," was the reply. "He said it
was necessary to take our child from the nurse and bring her up
on the bottle."
Again there was a pause. George could hardly bring himself to
ask the next question. Try as he would, he could not keep his
voice from weakening. "Well, now, what is her trouble?"
The mother did not answer. She stood staring before her. At
last she said, faintly, "I don't know."
"You didn't ask?"
"I asked. But it was not to our own doctor that I went."
"Ah!" whispered George. For nearly a minute neither one of them
spoke.
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