Either the voice or the movement in the room disturbed the old man. He moved in his chair, raised his head a little, and Edward, with some of the strong waters well diluted in the cup, approached and put it to his lips. "What is it?" said Clement Tournon, putting the cup feebly aside with his hand. "I thought it might have pleased God I should die in that sleep." "Take a little," said Edward, in a low tone: "it will refresh you." And Clement Tournon suffered him to raise the cup again to his lips, aiding with his own feeble hands, and drank a deep draught, as if he were very thirsty. Then, suddenly raising his eyes to Edward's face, he exclaimed, "Good Heavens! who are you? Edward Langdale! Is it all a dream?--a horrible dream?" "I have come to see you and take you away, Monsieur Tournon," said Edward, as calmly as he could. "Keep yourself quite tranquil, and I will tell you more presently. At present be as silent as I used to be when I was sick and you were well." The old syndic sat without speaking for a moment or two, and then said, "I know not what you have given me; but it seems to have strengthened and revived me. But pray, tell me more: I cannot make this out at all." "I will tell you after you have eaten something," said Edward. "I have brought something with me for you. But first sip a little more of this draught." The old man drank again, and then ate a little of the food which had been brought him; but the forces of life had so much diminished that it was long before the weight of the body seemed to give the mind liberty to act. At first he would wander a little, less with what seemed delirium than with forgetfulness. The brain appeared to sleep or faint; but with judicious care--an instinctive knowledge, as it were, of what was best for him--Edward administered support and stimulus by slow degrees till the mind fully wakened up. Quietly and cautiously the young man told him what he had done, why he came, and the certain prospect there was of his escape from that city of horror and famine if he could but summon strength to pass the gates. "But Guiton,--but my friend Guiton," said Clement Tournon. "What will he think of me?" "He begs you, he beseeches you, to go," said Edward. "He says you have done all you can for Rochelle, that you can do no more, that every mouth out of the city is a relief, and that, now you can go in safety, you ought to go." "Oh, my son," said Clement Tournon, "you know not what it is to ask me to quit the home of many years. I have travelled, it is true; I have left my domestic hearth; I have left the earth that holds my wife and children; but it was always with a thought of coming back and dying here. Now, if I go, I go forever,--never to see Rochelle more."