"We've been anxious about you," Falconer said, coming forward.
That "we" was suggestive; and Angela's fancy sprang to a happy ending for
the marred romance. As she entered the hall, dazzled by the lights, her
first glance was for the woman who stood beside Falconer, smiling though a
little shy. It did not need Falconer's introduction to tell that this was
Mademoiselle Dobieski; and if the singer had lost her youth in Siberia,
Paso Robles, or the magic medicine of love, had given it back. Her pale
face, lit by immense dark eyes, was radiant, and though she leaned lightly
on a stick, it seemed that this was a mere concession to a doctor's order,
or a habit not quite forgotten.
"This is the lady I told you of," Falconer said to Angela, when he had
heard the story of the adventure. "I told her about you, too, and she
would sit up to see you. So would your maid, of course, who has been in a
great state of anxiety--and even the cat was depressed. Mademoiselle
Dobieski has been trying to console your poor Irish girl."
"I could not bear her to be unhappy," said the singer, in a voice of a
curiously thrilling quality. "I am so happy myself! This is the best day
of my life. I don't want it to end."
"The doctor has told her she will be cured," Falconer explained.
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