"An excellent one!" said Valentine. "He pretends the air of the Faubourg Saint-Honoré is not good for me."
"Indeed!" said Morrel; "in that M. Noirtier may be right; your health has not appeared good the last fortnight."
"Not very," said Valentine. "And grandpapa is become my physician; and I have the greatest confidence in him, because he knows everything."
"Do you then really suffer?" asked Morrel, quickly.
"Oh, it must not be called suffering; I feel a general uneasiness, that is all. I have lost my appetite, and my stomach feels to be struggling to become accustomed to something." Noirtier did not lose a word of what Valentine said.
"And what treatment do you adopt for this singular complaint?"
"A very simple one," said Valentine. "I swallow every morning a spoonful of the mixture prepared for my grandfather. When I say one spoonful, I began by one—now I take four. Grandpapa says it is a panacea." Valentine smiled, but it was evident she suffered.
Maximilian, in his devotedness, gazed silently at her. She was very beautiful, but her usual paleness had increased; her eyes were more brilliant than ever, and her hands, which were generally white like mother-of-pearl, now more resembled wax, to which time was adding a yellowish hue.
From Valentine the young man looked toward Noirtier. The latter watched with strange and deep interest the young girl, absorbed by her affection; and he also, like Morrel, followed those traces of inward suffering, which were so little perceptible to a common observer that they escaped the notice of every one but the grandfather and the lover.
"But," said Morrel, "I thought this mixture, of which you now take four spoonfuls, was prepared for M. Noirtier?"
"I know it is very bitter," said Valentine; "so bitter, that all I drink afterward appears to have the same taste." Noirtier looked inquiringly at his granddaughter. "Yes; grandpapa," said Valentine; "it is so. Just now, before I came down to you, I drank a glass of eau sucrée; I left half, because it seemed so bitter." Noirtier turned pale, and made a sign that he wished to speak.
Valentine rose to fetch the dictionary. Noirtier watched her with evident anguish. In fact, the blood was rushing to the young girl's head already, her cheeks were becoming red.
"Oh!" cried she, without losing any of her cheerfulness, "this is singular! A dimness! Did the sun shine in my eyes?" And she leaned against the window.
