“I acted for the best,” he said earnestly. “Mr. Rivers will explain it to you. I gave Mrs. Elles something to take when she asked me, knowing that if I were to refuse her, the obstinate lady would have recourse to some other person less scrupulous than I. But what I gave her could not possibly harm her. A little bromide and water. The symptoms exhibited here are actually the result of sheer apprehension. Most curious! But she will not die, but live to be grateful to me.” “Or to hate you for having made her ridiculous,” said Egidia, bluntly. While the doctor had been speaking, he had begun to make mesmeric passes in front of Mrs. Elles, and it was quite certain that she did not hear the conclusion of his speech, or Egidia’s answer. Her eyelids closed, she began to breathe regularly, she lay back, but no longer in an attitude of tension. She would have been pleased to know how exquisitely pretty and helpless she looked, and how plainly Dr. André’s face showed that he thought so. Even Egidia was touched, in spite of her annoyance at the little trick she had played on them all. But then it had failed so absurdly, so lamentably! “Poor little thing!” she said thoughtfully to Rivers. “It is curious how comedy dogs her wherever she goes, and whatever she does. It is very hard to seek the sublime always and achieve--the ridiculous. I must be more gentle with her. I am hard.” “No, you are very good!” said Rivers kindly. As he spoke there was a ring at the outer door, and a pink envelope was put into Egidia’s hands. “For her!” she said, indicating Mrs. Elles. “Shall I bring her back?” said Dr. André. “It is only something from her lawyers,” said Egidia. “Why bring her back to worries?” “But it is a telegram--Immediate. You must take the responsibility of opening it.” “I will,” said Egidia. “She empowered me to open all her letters and telegrams once, in a moment of confidence.” She opened it. An expression of intense relief flooded her countenance. “Thank God!” she cried, almost hysterically, putting the paper into Rivers’ hands, “he can’t divorce her now, can he?” “Hardly!” said Rivers, smiling at the clever woman’s naïveté. “He died this morning at half-past nine. Poor fellow, though I don’t know him!” Had the widow heard? She opened her eyes at that moment and smiled sweetly at Dr. André, as his hands passed to and fro in front of her face. With characteristic tact, he left her in her happy trance a little longer, dreaming, perchance, of fresh woods and pastures new. THE END PRINTED BY R. R. DONNELLEY AND SONS COMPANY AT THE LAKESIDE PRESS, CHICAGO, ILL. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Human Interest, by Violet Hunt