Valentine colored. M. d’Avrigny carried the science of divination almost to a miraculous extent, for he was one of the physicians who always work upon the body through the mind.
“No,” she replied, “it is for my poor grandmother. You know the calamity that has happened to us, do you not?”
“I know nothing,” said M. d’Avrigny.
“Alas,” said Valentine, restraining her tears, “my grandfather is dead.”
“ M. de Saint-Méran?”
“Yes.”
“Suddenly?”
“From an apoplectic stroke.”
“An apoplectic stroke?” repeated the doctor.
“Yes, and my poor grandmother fancies that her husband, whom she never left, has called her, and that she must go and join him. Oh, M. d’Avrigny, I beseech 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.”