“Sit down,” went on the Vicomte, “and tell me what you have been doing while I have been in the hands of this tyrannical lady.” The Marquis complied. After all, it was quite easy to talk to him. “I have been doing . . . absolutely nothing, but staying in the loft awaiting developments. And, by the way, the good woman tells me that she has had a domiciliary visit.” Louis went off into a fit of rather feeble laughter. “It is quite true. . . . But she routed them with great slaughter. It must have been extraordinarily funny.” “They did not come into the house, then?” “No, I believe not. But she had made preparations to receive them. Conceive what she thought of passing me off for?” He began to laugh again. “Do you remember, Gilbert, my joking the other night about you and this dame, and saying that she would probably hide you in her bedroom? My utterances must have had a spice of prophecy about them. It was about three o’clock, I believe, when these individuals came; I was still dozing, when the tyrant entered hastily, and said with great directness, ‘They are coming to look for you, my fine young man. I do not fancy that they will set foot inside the house, but, if they do, remember that you are my niece Annette, ill of a fever.’ I protested against the libel on Mademoiselle Annette, whose chin, I am sure, does not stand in need of a razor, but what could I do?” “And what happened?” asked Château-Foix. “Nothing, fortunately—or unfortunately,” said Louis, sighing rather regretfully. “I was not called upon to play this beau rôle to an audience. But the good lady took some pains with the staging. She arranged the bedclothes over me in some way that nearly suffocated me, and took away my clothes, which were hanging upon a chair, substituting, I believe, some of her own. I was too modest to look at them. I fancy that they are gone now, and, moreover, that my own have not come back, so that I can’t get up.” “I should imagine,” observed the Marquis drily, “that you could not do that in any case.” “Well, perhaps not,” conceded the invalid. “But, Gilbert, we must be getting on. Couldn’t you—couldn’t you leave me to follow?” “That is not very likely, is it?” asked his cousin. “I thought we settled that before. You had better not talk any more and exhaust yourself. To-morrow will be time enough to talk of getting up, and as this visit is over I presume we are the safer for it. How is your shoulder, by the way?” Louis made a little grimace by way of reply. “You do not look over flourishing yourself, my good Gilbert,” he said, scanning him from the pillow. “I should say that you did not sleep well last night.” “No, I did not,” answered the Marquis in a fairly natural tone. Louis murmured that he was sorry, and there was a pause, Gilbert feeling that he had nothing more to say. Glancing at his cousin he saw that he was lying with his eyes shut, and also that he looked rather spent. He got up, and Louis immediately opened his eyes.