He knew only the outlines of her history, since Mère Marchette had spoken little of herself. What her feelings might have been he could only imagine: the old woman could not have told her mental experiences; she had never even analyzed them. Unless he had been a peasant and a mother himself, Lommel could not have divined Mère Marchette's emotions; he could only reflect what he should have felt in her place. He said to himself at last that, after all, the circumstances which made Mère Marchette's lot so pathetic must also have deadened her sensibilities and so have softened her suffering. He sighed and looked at his watch. His assistant had gone to the railway station to meet Pierre, and the time he had fixed for their return was already past by five minutes. He felt again of his patient's pulse, with a terrible dread lest after all the young soldier should arrive too late. The artery throbbed more feebly, but still steadily; and at his touch the sick woman opened her eyes with the old questioning look. "Patience, Mère Marchette," he said, nodding encouragingly; "all goes well." She did not speak, but she gave him a look so eloquent with gratitude that words were not needed. Then she lay quiet again and the silent watch went on. Five minutes passed, ten, fifteen; the young doctor became extremely uneasy. At last in the distance he heard a clock strike one. At the sound Mère Marchette opened her eyes with a quick, startled glance. "Pierre!" she cried, in a voice of intense love and terror. "Victor has gone to the station to meet him; patience yet a little." The old woman regarded him with a look of terrible pathos. "God could not let me die without seeing Pierre," she murmured. At that moment, through the still afternoon, was heard the sound of a carriage. Mère Marchette's eyes shone with a wild and fevered expression. "You must be calm," Lommel said. "I will bring him to you." He administered the little stimulant she could take, and passed quickly out into the corridor. V. Dr. Lommel closed the door of the ward behind him and started down the corridor, but at the first step he stopped suddenly with a terrible sinking of the heart. Victor was coming toward him, but alone, and with a white face. "Victor," Jean cried, in a voice intense but low, "what has happened? Where is Pierre?" "There has been an accident," Victor returned. "A bridge broke under his train." "But you do not know--" began Lommel. "Yes," the other interrupted; "M. de Brue, who was on the train and escaped with a broken arm, was in the same compartment with Pierre. He rode through on the engine that came in for help. Pierre had told him I was to meet him, and so when M. de Brue saw me he stopped to say that the soldier was struck on the chest and killed instantly." Dr. Lommel stood regarding his companion with terror and compassion in his look. "_O mon Dieu!_" he said; "poor Mère Marchette!" "It will kill her," Victor responded.