" His hand was upon the curtain of the door,
when my steward's voice was heard outside, calling my name. The man
himself entered immediately, and said that Mrs. Falchion sent her
compliments, and would I come at once to see her companion, Miss Caron,
who had injured herself.
The Intermediate Passenger turned towards me a strange look; his lips
opened as if about to speak, but he said nothing. At the instant there
came to my mind whom the picture on his breast resembled: it was Mrs.
Falchion.
I think he saw this new intelligence in my face, and a meaning smile took
the place of words, as he slowly left the cabin, mutely refusing
assistance.
I went to Mrs. Falchion's cabin, and met her outside the door. She looked
displeased. "Justine has hurt herself," she said. "Please attend to her;
I am going on deck."
The unfeeling nature of this remark held me to the spot for a moment;
then I entered the cabin. Justine Caron, a delicate but warm-faced girl
of little more than twenty, was sitting on the cabin sofa, her head
supported against the wall, and her hand wound in a handkerchief soaked
in blood.
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