"He lies sleeping sweetly," she said to the old man. "How differently he breathes now! I can hardly hear him. Marton will be here in a minute. Leave him to us, father, and take some rest yourself." "As soon as she comes," answered the syndic. "What is the hour?" "The great clock has just struck one," answered Lucette. "I was drowsy, and did not hear it," said the syndic. "Have the wine near, Lucette, and give him a spoonful at once when he wakes." He made a movement toward the other side of the room as he spoke, and Lucette took his place in the large chair; but hardly was she seated when a voice was heard from the bed which made her start. "Where am I?" asked Edward Langdale: "what has happened to me?" "You are with dear friends," replied the sweet voice of Lucette at once. "You have met with a little accident, but you are recovering fast. Here; take a spoonful of wine. The doctor orders it." "I will take any thing you give me," said the lad, "for I feel very weak." "Hush! silence! silence!" said Lucette, in a low but cheerful tone: "you are to keep quite quiet, and take some wine from time to time, and try to sleep again. To-morrow you will be quite well, I doubt not." So saying, she poured the wine quietly between his lips; but the poor lad could not refrain from saying, "That is very nice; and you are very kind." It is probable he would have added "and very beautiful," if he could have descried in the dim light more than the faint outline of that fair face and form; but Lucette replied, "I shall think you very _unkind_ if you say one word more, except to ask for what you want." "You understand it better than I do, Lucette, I see," said the old syndic, in a whisper. "Woman, woman! for such tasks no hands are like hers! But here comes Marton, and I will leave you." The youth gazed after him as he departed, and looked at Marton curiously as she moved slowly about the room; but his eyes found something more satisfactory in the form of Lucette, although he could distinguish little except that there was something graceful and more of his own age before him, while from time to time she poured the wine between his lips. He was feeble, however, and inclined to sleep; and before good Dr. Cavillac, roused out of his bed, came to visit him, his eyes were again closed, and he had relapsed into slumber. It is one of the strange but frequent results of disease or of accident of any kind which affects the brain, to blot out, as it were, from memory all the events which have taken place within a certain preceding period. It is sometimes a long, sometimes a short, period, according to circumstances not very easily reduced to any rule. I have known a man lose a language with which he had been for years familiar, and remember one which he had long forgotten. I have known memory acutely distinct in regard to events which had occurred a month or two before, and a perfect blank as to those more recent.