Presently, the head of the sick man turned slightly on its pillow, the body contracted a little and Cary opened his eyes. There was no bewilderment in the look. He awoke knowing where he was--not in a strange place, but among those whom he loved and who lovingly cared for him. Pauline was the first to approach him. She asked him a question, and he answered in her own language, as naturally as if the French had been his mother tongue. Batoche was delighted to observe this, regarding it as a satisfactory normal symptom. Cary accepted a draught from the hands of his beautiful nurse, then lay back on his pillow as if quite refreshed. At that propitious moment, his eyes encountered those of Batoche, who stood up a little towards the foot of the bed. A calm smile played upon his lips, intelligence beamed softly in his look, and, withdrawing his long emaciated hand from under the sheet, he extended it to his old friend. "Batoche!" he whispered. The latter took the proffered hand reverently and pressed it to his lips. "You know me, Captain?" "Perfectly." "I have longed to see you." "And I to see you." "But it was impossible to come sooner." "I know it and you had to use that uniform." As Cary said this he pointed to Batoche's disguise with a subdued laugh. He immediately added: "And my friends, how are they? Mademoiselle Zulma and Sieur Sarpy?" "They grieve at your misfortune and pray for your recovery. Mademoiselle's chief regret is that she cannot be at your side." A radiance passed over the sufferer's face, and he said: "Does she know in whose kind hands I am?" "She does and that is her only consolation." It was Pauline's turn to betray her emotion, by averting her head and wiping the tears from her eyes. "Here are a few lines from her pen," continued Batoche, "written not many hours ago." Cary held out his hand for the paper, partially raising himself on the pillow in his eagerness as he did it. He would have asked that it be read to him, when Batoche interposed with that quiet authority so familiar to him. "Not to-night, Captain. Keep it for your first joy on awakening to-morrow morning." The sick man smilingly acquiesced, and handed it to Pauline, saying: "We will read it together at breakfast." After a pause, during which Cary appeared to be collecting his thoughts, calmly, however, and without effort, he said to Batoche: "You return to-night?" "Yes, at once. It is growing late." "You will see Mademoiselle Sarpy and her father. You will thank them for their solicitude. Tell them that my thoughts are with them. If I live and secure my liberty, my first visit will be to them. If I die--"