The Story Continued by Marian Halcombe

It was then twenty minutes to nine. After going to my room to get my journal, I returned, and sat with Laura, sometimes writing, sometimes stopping to talk with her. Nobody came near us, and nothing happened. We remained together till ten o’clock. I then rose, said my last cheering words, and wished her good night. She locked her door again after we had arranged that I should come in and see her the first thing in the morning. I had a few sentences more to add to my diary before going to bed myself, and as I went down again to the drawing-room after leaving Laura for the last time that weary day, I resolved merely to show myself there, to make my excuses, and then to retire an hour earlier than usual for the night. Sir Percival, and the Count and his wife, were sitting together. Sir Percival was yawning in an easy-chair, the Count was reading, Madame Fosco was fanning herself. Strange to say, her face was flushed now. She, who never suffered from the heat, was most undoubtedly suffering from it tonight. “I am afraid, Countess, you are not quite so well as usual?” I said. “The very remark I was about to make to you ,” she replied. “You are looking pale, my dear.” My dear! It was the first time she had ever addressed me with that familiarity! There was an insolent smile too on her face when she said the words. “I am suffering from one of my bad headaches,” I answered coldly.