The sound of the voice struck him strangely. Bending lower he tried to distinguish the features of the patient; but the semi-obscurity of the room and the disordered hair and beard rendered his examination fruitless. Then the mulatto's eyes opened slowly; raising his head languidly, his gaze wandered over the room and rested on the familiar objects. "Where am I?" he murmured. "Is it a dream? My God! my God!" This time the voice was more distinct and Louis trembled visibly; then a bitter smile came to his lips and he shook his head sadly. "Alas!" he said, in a low tone, "what illusions sorrow will cause." Then turning to the patient, he added kindly: "Do you feel stronger now?" At these words, the stranger sat bolt upright, and catching Louis' hand kissed it rapturously. "There, don't agitate yourself," resumed the young man. "I have done nothing to win your gratitude. Some day I may be able to do more. But tell me how you feel. Was it fatigue or weakness that caused your swoon?" The old man still remained silent, his head bowed down and pressing Louis' hand convulsively to his breast. A singular emotion filled the young man's heart, and the tears came into his eyes as he continued: "Listen to me, father." "Oh! again, again!" murmured the stranger, in a voice choked with emotion. "Well, father--" "Louis!" cried the old man, unable to control himself longer. This single word, uttered with all the strength of his soul, was a revelation. The young man started back as though a thunderbolt had fallen at his feet, and stood for a moment pale and trembling, his gaze fixed on the haggard features before him. The commotion was too violent, the moral shock too deep, to allow him to realize the astounding truth at once. It seemed like the sudden transition of deep night to the bright sunshine, which dazzles and renders us momentarily blind. Then the reality suddenly burst on his dazed senses; throwing himself on his knees beside the couch, he brushed back the disheveled white hair from the stranger's face, and scanned the featured of his father, disguised under a fictitious color. There was no longer any doubt; he threw his arms about the old man's neck, murmuring in a sort of filial delirium: "You!--you, my father--Heaven be praised!" * * * * * * "We shall not attempt to describe this first explosion of joy and delirious happiness. Who can paint those affectionate embraces, those tender words that come from the heart and throw the soul into an ecstacy of bliss? When the first emotion had finally subsided, however, Louis eagerly questioned his father concerning those long years of separation. "My dear child," began the father, "I slept for five years and awakened for the first time two days ago. I was in the wrecked car with Ramon and his daughter; but through some inexplicable chance my life was spared, though my leg was fractured and the fright drove me mad." "You, my father?"