"Do not call any one—do not be alarmed," said the count; "do not let a shade of suspicion or uneasiness remain in your breast; the man standing before you, Valentine (for this time it is no phantom), is nothing more than the tenderest father and the most respectful friend you could dream of."
Valentine could not reply; the voice which indicated the real presence of a being in the room alarmed her so much that she feared to utter a syllable; still the expression of her eyes seemed to inquire, "If your intentions are pure, why are you here?" The count's marvelous sagacity understood all that was passing in the young girl's mind.
"Listen to me," he said, "or, rather, look upon me; look at my face, paler even than usual, and my eyes, red with weariness—for four nights I have not closed them; for four nights I have been constantly watching you, to protect and preserve you for Maximilian."
The blood mounted rapidly to the cheeks of Valentine, for the name just pronounced by the count dispelled all the fear with which his presence had inspired her.
"Maximilian!" she exclaimed, and so sweet did the sound appear to her, that she repeated it—"Maximilian! has he then owned all to you?"
"Everything. He told me your life was his, and I have promised him you shall live."
"You have promised him that I shall live?"
"Yes."
"But, sir, you spoke of vigilance and protection. Are you a doctor?"
"Yes, the best you could have at the present time, believe me."
"But you say you have watched," said Valentine, uneasily; "where have you been?—I have not seen you."
The count extended his hand toward the library.
"I was hidden behind that door," he said, "which leads into the next house, which I have rented."
Valentine turned her eyes away, and, with an indignant expression of pride and modest fear, exclaimed:
"Sir, I think you have been guilty of an unparalleled intrusion, and that which you call protection is more resembling an insult."
"Valentine," he answered, "during my long watch over you, all I have observed has been what people visited you, what nourishment was prepared, and what beverage was served; then, when the latter appeared dangerous to me, I entered, as I have now done, and substituted, in the place of the poison, a healthy draught; which, instead of producing the death intended, caused life to circulate in your veins."
"Poison! Death!" exclaimed Valentine, half believing herself under the influence of some feverish hallucination; "what are you saying, sir?"
