It is a sad story. Ah, it is a
sad story. You shall hear it when we get through."
"I can connect no idea of woman's frailty with that refined and
intellectual face," said Traverse coldly.
"Ah, bah! you are young! you know not the world! you, my innocent,
my pious young friend!" said the old doctor, as they crossed the
hall to go into the next wing of the building, in which were
situated the men's wards.
Traverse found nothing that particularly interested him in this
department, and when they had concluded their round of visits and
were seated together in the old doctor's study, Traverse asked him
for the story of his beautiful patient.
The doctor shrugged his shoulders.
"It is a story miserable, as I told you before. A gentleman,
illustrious, from Virginia, an officer high in the army, and
distinguished in the war, he brought this woman to me nearly three
years ago. He informed me that--oh, bien! I had better tell you the
story in my own manner. This young lady, Mademoiselle Mont de St.
Pierre, is of a family noble and distinguished--a relative of this
officer, illustrious and brave. At fifteen Mademoiselle met a man,
handsome and without honor. Ah, bah! you understand! at sixteen the
child became a fallen angel! She lost her reason through sorrow and
shame. This relative--this gentleman, illustrious and noble, tender
and compassionate--took her to the seclusion of his country house,
where she lived in elegance, luxury and honor.
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