Frédéric embraced his son, who thenceforth passed a large part of the time with him; for the poor child no longer received the caresses of his mother, who was still in a raging fever, and delirious, and, for nearly a fortnight, lay at the gates of death. During that time, Constance passed whole days and often whole nights in the pavilion, refusing to leave to another the nursing that the young patient required; she hung over her pillow, and held her in the most violent paroxysms of her delirium; she triumphed over fatigue, she was unconscious of suffering, she devoted her whole attention to Sister Anne; in vain did Frédéric, day after day, urge her to be careful of her own health and to take some rest. "Let me nurse her," said Constance; "by devoting myself to her, it seems to me that I repair a part of the wrong that you have done her." Frédéric had not a moment's peace of mind so long as he knew that Sister Anne was in danger. He was consumed with the longing to see her again, but he had promised his wife not to enter her presence; and how could he break his promise, after all that Constance had done for him? He often hovered about the pavilion where the poor girl lay, and waited impatiently for someone to come out from whom he could obtain news of her condition. But when it was Constance who came out, he concealed a part of what he felt, afraid to reveal the extent of his interest in the dumb girl. Thanks to the unremitting care of Frédéric's wife, the patient returned to life; her delirium ceased, she recognized her child, strained him to her heart, and refused to be separated from him. When she first saw Constance again, her whole body quivered; but in a moment she seemed to recover herself, and seized her benefactress's hand, which she covered with tears and kisses; it was as if she were trying to ask her forgiveness for the wrong she had done her. "Poor girl!" said Constance, affectionately pressing her hand; "I shall always be the same to you; it is my place to try to make up for your misfortunes. I am your friend; your child is mine; henceforth his fate and yours are assured. Oh! don't shake your head--I am simply paying a debt. Your son is a sweet, lovely boy; his happiness will enable you to forget your own sorrows some day. Courage! you may yet be happy!" Sister Anne sighed, and her eyes seemed to say that it was impossible. Constance herself did not believe that it was possible to forget Frédéric; but it is lawful to lie a little in order to comfort others. The dumb girl looked about the room, but, in a moment, turned her eyes again upon her benefactress, as if resigned to her fate. "I will do what you order me to do," she seemed to say.