The operation began. With the same earnest intelligence that she had previously shown, she quickly and noiselessly obeyed the doctor's whispered orders, and even half anticipated them. She was conscious of a singular curiosity that, far from being mean or ignoble, seemed to lift her not only above the ordinary weaknesses of her own sex, but made her superior to the men around her. Almost before she knew it, the operation was over, and she regarded with equal curiosity the ostentatious solicitude with which the doctor seemed to be wiping his fateful instrument that bore an odd resemblance to a silver-handled centre-bit. The stertorous breathing below the bandages had given way to a fainter but more natural respiration. There was a moment of suspense. The doctor's hand left the pulse and lifted the closed eyelid of the sufferer. A slight movement passed over the figure. The sluggish face had cleared; life seemed to struggle back into it before even the dull eyes participated in the glow. Dr. Duchesne with a sudden gesture waved aside his companions, but not before Josephine had bent her head eagerly forward. “He is coming to,” she said. At the sound of that deep clear voice--the first to break the hush of the room--the dull eyes leaped up, and the head turned in its direction. The lips moved and uttered a single rapid sentence. The girl recoiled. “You're all right now,” said the doctor, cheerfully, intent only upon the form before him. The lips moved again, but this time feebly and vacantly; the eyes were staring vaguely around. “What's matter? What's all about?” said the man, thickly. “You've had a fall. Think a moment. Where do you live?” Again the lips moved, but this time only to emit a confused, incoherent murmur. Dr. Duchesne looked grave, but recovered himself quickly. “That will do. Leave him alone now,” he said brusquely to the others. But Josephine lingered. “He spoke well enough just now,” she said eagerly. “Did you hear what he said?” “Not exactly,” said the doctor, abstractedly, gazing at the man. “He said, 'You'll have to kill me first,'” said Josephine, slowly. “Humph;” said the doctor, passing his hand backwards and forwards before the man's eyes to note any change in the staring pupils. “Yes,” continued Josephine, gravely. “I suppose,” she added, cautiously, “he was thinking of the operation--of what you had just done to him?” “What I had done to him? Oh, yes!” CHAPTER II