Endowed with profound perspicacity, quickened by practice, he studied Valentine and her mother alternately; and the penetrating gaze which he fastened on the old countess so disconcerted her that she felt her wrinkled face turning very red.

“This child is very ill,” he abruptly said.

Mme. de la Verberie made no reply.

“I desire,” continued the doctor, “to remain alone with her for a few minutes.”

The countess dared not resist the authority of a man of Dr. Raget’s character, and retired to the next room, apparently calm, but in reality disturbed by the most gloomy forebodings.

At the end of half an hour—­it seemed a century—­the doctor entered the room where she was waiting.  He, who had witnessed so much suffering and misery all his life, was agitated and nervous after talking with Valentine.

“Well,” said the countess, “what is the matter?”

“Summon all your courage, madame,” he answered sadly, “and be prepared to grant indulgence and pardon to your suffering child.  Mlle. Valentine will soon become a mother.”

“The worthless creature!  I feared as much.”

The doctor was shocked at this dreadful expression of the countess’s eye.  He laid his hand on her arm, and gave her a penetrating look, beneath which she instantly quailed.

The doctor’s suspicions were correct.

A dreadful idea had flashed across Mme. de la Verberie’s mind—­the idea of destroying this child which would be a living proof of Valentine’s sin.

Feeling that her evil intention was divined, the proud woman’s eyes fell beneath the doctor’s obstinate gaze.

“I do not understand you, Dr. Raget,” she murmured.

“But I understand you, madame; and I simply tell you that a crime does not obliterate a fault.”

“Doctor!”

“I merely say what I think, madame.  If I am mistaken in my impression, so much the better for you.  At present, the condition of your daughter is serious, but not dangerous.  Excitement and distress of mind have unstrung her nerves, and she now has a high fever; but I hope by great care and good nursing that she will soon recover.”

The countess saw that the good doctor’s suspicions were not dissipated; so she thought she would try affectionate anxiety, and said: 

“At least, doctor, you can assure me that the dear child’s life is not in danger?”

“No, madame,” answered Dr. Raget with cutting irony, “your maternal tenderness need not be alarmed.  All the poor child needs is rest of mind, which you alone can give her.  A few kind words from you will do her more good than all of my prescriptions.  But remember, madame, that the least shock or nervous excitement will produce the most fatal consequences.”

“I am aware of that,” said the hypocritical countess, “and shall be very careful.  I must confess that I was unable to control my anger upon first hearing your announcement.”