'Have you read it?' she asked.
It was necessary as a mere act of humanity to humour her.
'I will read it willingly,' said Henry, 'if you will go upstairs
to bed. You shall hear what I think of it to-morrow morning.
Our heads will be clearer, we shall be better able to make the fourth
act in the morning.'
The chambermaid came in while he was speaking. 'I am afraid
the lady is ill,' Henry whispered. 'Take her up to her room.'
The woman looked at the Countess and whispered back, 'Shall we send
for a doctor, sir?'
Henry advised taking her upstairs first, and then asking
the manager's opinion. There was great difficulty in persuading
her to rise, and accept the support of the chambermaid's arm.
It was only by reiterated promises to read the play that night,
and to make the fourth act in the morning, that Henry prevailed on
the Countess to return to her room.
Left to himself, he began to feel a certain languid curiosity
in relation to the manuscript. He looked over the pages, reading a
line here and a line there. Suddenly he changed colour as he read--
and looked up from the manuscript like a man bewildered.
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