With The Sparrow Hugh was ushered into a big, sunny
room overlooking the beautiful garden where climbing
geraniums ran riot with carnations and violets, and
for some minutes they waited. From the windows
spread a wide view of the calm sapphire sea.
Then suddenly the door opened.
THE STORY OF MADEMOISELLE
Both men turned and before them they saw the plainly
dressed figure of a beautiful woman, and behind her
an elderly, grey-faced man.
For a few seconds the woman stared at The Sparrow
blankly. Then she turned her gaze upon Hugh.
Her lips parted. Suddenly she gave vent to a
loud cry, almost of pain, and placing both hands to
her head, gasped:
"Dieu!"
It was Yvonne Ferad. And the cry was one of recognition.
Hugh dashed forward with the doctor, for she was on
the point of collapse at recognizing them. But
in a few seconds she recovered herself, though she
was deathly pale and much agitated.
“Yvonne!” exclaimed The Sparrow in a low,
kindly voice. “Then you know who we really
are? Your reason has returned?”
“Yes,” she answered in French. “I
remember who you are. Ah! But—but
it is all so strange!” she cried wildly.
“I—I—I can’t think!
At last! Yes. I know. I recollect!
You!” And she stared at Hugh. “You—you
are Monsieur Henfrey!”
“That is so, mademoiselle.”
“Ah, messieurs,” remarked the elderly
doctor, who was standing behind his patient.
“She recognized you both—after all!
The sudden shock at seeing you has accomplished what
we have failed all these months to accomplish.
It is efficacious only in some few cases. In this
it is successful. But be careful. I beg
of you not to overtax poor mademoiselle’s brain
with many questions. I will leave you.”
And he withdrew, closing the door softly after him.
For a few minutes The Sparrow spoke to Mademoiselle
of Monte Carlo about general things.
“I have been very ill,” she said in a
low, tremulous voice. “I could think of
nothing since my accident, until now—and
now”—and she gazed around her with
a new interest upon her handsome countenance—“and
now I remember!—but it all seems too hazy
and indistinct.”
“You recollect things—eh?”
asked The Sparrow in a kindly voice, placing his hand
upon her shoulder and looking into her tired eyes.
“Yes. I remember. All the past is
slowly returning to me. It seems ages and ages
since I last met you, Mr.—Mr. Peters,”
and she laughed lightly. “Peters—that
is the name?”
“It is, mademoiselle,” he laughed.
“And it is a happy event that, by seeing us
unexpectedly, your memory has returned. But the
reason Mr. Henfrey is here is to resume that conversation
which was so suddenly interrupted at the Villa Amette.”
Mademoiselle was silent for some moments. Her
face was averted, for she was gazing out of the window
to the distant sea.
