At last she looked up, and seeing who stood there, staring down at her,
she raised herself with some difficulty, looking to the Frenchman's
sharpened consciousness, like some monstrous greedy beast, suddenly
baulked of its prey.
"Such a misfortune!" she exclaimed in English. "Such a very great
misfortune! The necklace of our friend 'as broken, and 'er beautiful
pearls are rolling all over the floor! We 'ave been trying, Fritz and
myself, to pick them up for 'er. Is not that so, Sylvia? Mrs. Bailey is
so distressed! It 'as made 'er feel very faint, what English people call
'queer'. But I tell 'er we shall find them all--it is only a matter of a
little time. I asked 'er to take some cognac my 'usband keeps for such
bad moments, but no, she would not! Is not that so, Sylvia?"
She stared down anxiously at the bowed head of her guest.
Sylvia looked up. As if hypnotised by the other woman's voice, she rose
to her feet--a wan, pitiful little smile came over her white face.
"Yes," she said dully, "the string of my pearls broke. I was taken faint.
I felt horribly queer--perhaps it was the heat.
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