It was with feelings of trepidation that Clotelle heard these particulars
from the lips of her husband.
"We must see this poor man, whoever he is," said she, as Jerome
finished the sentence.
The landlord was glad to hear that his guests felt some interest
in the sick man, and promised that the invalid's room should be got
ready for their reception.
The clock in the hall was just striking ten, as Jerome passed
through and entered the sick man's chamber. Stretched upon
a mattress, with both hands tightly bound to the bedstead,
the friendless stranger was indeed a pitiful sight.
His dark, dishevelled hair prematurely gray, his long,
unshaven beard, and the wildness of the eyes which glanced upon
them as they opened the door and entered, caused the faint
hope which had so suddenly risen in Clotelle's heart, to sink,
and she felt that this man could claim no kindred with her.
Certainly, he bore no resemblance to the man whom she had
called her father, and who had fondly dandled her on his knee
in those happy days of childhood.
"Help!" cried the poor man, as Jerome and his wife walked into the room.
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