Dr. Fargeas cast a keen glance at the girl, whose eyes, burning with inward fire, alone seemed to be living.

“Madame,” said the doctor, quietly, when the General had made a sign to his niece to listen to the stranger, “General Vogotzine has told me that you were suffering.  I am a physician.  Will you do me the honor and the kindness to answer my questions?”

“Yes,” said the General, “do, my dear Marsa, to please me.”

She stood erect, not a muscle of her face moving; and, without replying, she looked steadily into the doctor’s eyes.  In her turn, she was studying him.  It was like a defiance before a duel.

Then she said suddenly, turning to Vogotzine: 

“Why have you brought a physician?  I am not ill.”

Her voice was clear, but low and sad, and it was an evident effort for her to speak.

“No, you are not ill, my dear child; but I don’t know—­I don’t understand—­you make me a little uneasy, a very little.  You know if I, your old uncle, worried you even a little, you would not feel just right about it, would you now?”

With which rather incoherent speech, he tried to force a smile; but Marsa, taking no notice of him, turned slowly to the doctor, who had not removed his eyes from her face.

“Well,” she said, dryly, “what do you want?  What do you wish to ask me?  What shall I tell you?  Who requested you to come here?”

Vogotzine made a sign to the maid to leave the room.

“I told you, I have come at the General’s request,” said Fargeas, with a wave of his hand toward Vogotzine.

Marsa only replied:  “Ah!” But it seemed to the doctor that there was a world of disappointment and despair expressed in this one ejaculation.

Then she suddenly became rigid, and lapsed into one of those stupors which had succeeded the days of delirium, and had frightened Vogotzine so much.

“There!  There!  Look at her!” exclaimed the old man.

Fargeas, without listening to the General, approached Marsa, and placed her in a chair near the window.  He looked in her eyes, and placed his hand upon her burning forehead; but Marsa made no movement.

“Are you in pain?” he asked, gently.

The young girl, who a moment before had asked questions and still seemed interested a little in life, stirred uneasily, and murmured, in an odd, singing voice: 

“I do not know!”

“Did you sleep last night?”

“I do not know!”

“How old are you?” asked Fargeas, to test her mental condition.

“I do not know!”

The physician’s eyes sought those of the General.  Vogotzine, his face crimson, stood by the chair, his little, round eyes blinking with emotion at each of these mournful, musical responses.

“What is your name?” asked the doctor, slowly.

She raised her dark, sad eyes, and seemed to be seeking what to reply; then, wearily letting her head fall backward, she answered, as before: