The sudden disclosure drew a cry of sympathy from Stella, which she was not mistress enough of herself to repress.  Now for the first time she understood the remorse that tortured Romayne, as she had not understood it when Lady Loring had told her the terrible story of the duel.  Attributing the effect produced on her to the sensitive nature of a young woman, Madame Marillac innocently added to Stella’s distress by making excuses.

“I am sorry to have frightened you, my dear,” she said.  “In your happy country such a dreadful death as my son’s is unknown.  I am obliged to mention it, or you might not understand what I have still to say.  Perhaps I had better not go on?”

Stella roused herself.  “Yes! yes!” she answered, eagerly.  “Pray go on!”

“My son in the next room,” the widow resumed, “is only fourteen years old.  It has pleased God sorely to afflict a harmless creature.  He has not been in his right mind since—­since the miserable day when he followed the duelists, and saw his brother’s death.  Oh! you are turning pale!  How thoughtless, how cruel of me!  I ought to have remembered that such horrors as these have never overshadowed your happy life!”

Struggling to recover her self-control, Stella tried to reassure Madame Marillac by a gesture.  The voice which she had heard in the next room was—­as she now knew—­the voice that haunted Romayne.  Not the words that had pleaded hunger and called for bread—­but those other words, “Assassin! assassin! where are you?”—­rang in her ears.  She entreated Madame Marillac to break the unendurable interval of silence.  The widow’s calm voice had a soothing influence which she was eager to feel.  “Go on!” she repeated.  “Pray go on!”

“I ought not to lay all the blame of my boy’s affliction on the duel,” said Madame Marillac.  “In childhood, his mind never grew with his bodily growth.  His brother’s death may have only hurried the result which was sooner or later but too sure to come.  You need feel no fear of him.  He is never violent—­and he is the most beautiful of my children.  Would you like to see him?”

“No!  I would rather hear you speak of him.  Is he not conscious of his own misfortune?”

“For weeks together, Stella—­I am sure I may call you Stella?—­he is quite calm; you would see no difference outwardly between him and other boys.  Unhappily, it is just at those times that a spirit of impatience seems to possess him.  He watches his opportunity, and, however careful we may be, he is cunning enough to escape our vigilance.”

“Do you mean that he leaves you and his sisters?”

“Yes, that is what I mean.  For nearly two months past he has been away from us.  Yesterday only, his return relieved us from a state of suspense which I cannot attempt to describe.  We don’t know where he has been, or in the company of what persons he has passed the time of his absense.  No persuasion will induce him to speak to us on the subject.  This morning we listened while he was talking to himself.”