"I forbid you to do it!" replied Léodgard, angrily. "Let no one dare to leave the house! I have been wounded--in a duel; but it is a slight wound, and I wish no one to know that I fought. The man who forgets my orders will be dismissed instantly.--Go now and tell the countess." The servant woke Marie, and she stole softly into her mistress's room to give her the message. When she learned that her husband had returned to the hôtel, but that he had returned wounded, Bathilde hurriedly slipped on a loose garment and went at once to the bedside of the man whom she had never ceased to love. The sight of Bathilde seemed now to allay the count's pain; he tried to smile at her, and said in a faint voice: "Close the doors; I wish to be alone with you." "But you are wounded, monsieur le comte; should we not send for a surgeon first of all?" "No, madame.--If you wish to gratify me, do only what I ask you to do. We are quite alone, are we not?" "Yes, monsieur." "Give me some of that cordial--in that phial on the table yonder. It is what the doctor gave me when I was so ill--some time ago." Bathilde at once gave Léodgard the cordial, and he drank several swallows of it. "That is enough," he said. Revived by that draught, he succeeded, with his wife's aid, in sitting up in bed, and with his own hand applied bandages to the wound, which stopped the flow of blood. Then, handing Bathilde a bundle which he had thus far kept out of sight, he said: "Put this in the fireplace, madame, and set fire to it at once." "What, monsieur! this garment?" "Be good enough to obey me, madame; everything that I ask you to do at this moment is of more importance than you suppose." The young woman did what the count ordered. The olive-green cloak was soon in a blaze. As he watched it burn, Léodgard seemed to breathe more freely, and when it was entirely consumed he muttered: "Good! now there is nothing else to betray me except his sword. That cannot be burned; but it may at least be hidden from all eyes." And having carefully concealed the short sword under his coverlid, Léodgard held out his hand to Bathilde, who took it and pressed it to her heart, hardly able to credit that mark of affection on her husband's part. "I have caused you much unhappiness, Bathilde," said Léodgard, pausing frequently between his words; "but heaven has punished me! I shall cause you no more after this!" "Mon Dieu! monsieur le comte, what do you mean? Your wound is not dangerous, I hope?" "No, Bathilde, no; be not alarmed. But now, when we are alone, I am anxious to let you know that I repent of my wrongdoing--that I implore your forgiveness." "O Léodgard! dear Léodgard! If it is true that you have come back at last to stay with us always--if my presence is no longer offensive to you--am I not the happiest of women?--It is not for me to forgive you, but I offer you all my love as in the old days!"