XXI]
THROUGH THE IVORY DOOR.
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little hand, to stroke the poor dead thing, and then once more bury her face in her hands, and sob as if her heart would break.
I was afraid she would really make herself ill: still I thought it best to let her weep away the first sharp agony of grief: and, after a few minutes, the sobbing gradually ceased, and Sylvie rose to her feet, and looked calmly at me, though tears were still streaming down her cheeks.
I did not dare to speak again, just yet; but simply held out my hand to her, that we might quit the melancholy spot.
