"Thanks, Bathilde, thanks! Our daughter is an angel. I love her--ah! yes, I love her with all my heart! Dear child!--You will send her to me to-morrow, as soon as she wakes, will you not?" "As soon as you wish, my dear." "Oh! let her sleep; do not disturb her rest.--And now, listen to me, Bathilde; I must see the Sire de Jarnonville at the earliest possible moment. Write him a line--ask him to come here, without giving him any details. Send to him at daybreak. You understand? beg him to come at once." "You shall be obeyed, my dear; and the Sire de Jarnonville is such a kind friend to us, that I doubt not that he will hasten to gratify your wish." "That is well. As soon as Jarnonville arrives, let him be sent to me. And now, Bathilde, return to your rest." "Do you expect me to leave you, my dear, when you are wounded? Oh! I entreat you, let me sit up with you, let me pass the night by your side.--And then, too, it seems to me that we should send for the doctor." "I tell you again, madame, that you would aggravate my condition by doing so. And you do not wish to do that, I think?" "What I would like, monsieur le comte, would be to have your wound examined. You seem to be in pain." "You are mistaken.--Follow my instructions, and do not go beyond them.--Adieu, Bathilde!" "You wish me to leave you?" "I do. But first--come nearer--let me kiss your forehead." "Dear Léodgard! I am so happy!" The wounded man put his pallid lips to Bathilde's brow; then he motioned to her to go, whispering: "Jarnonville--at daybreak--do not forget!" Bathilde left the room most regretfully; but she dared not disobey him whose lightest wish was sacred to her. Left to himself, Léodgard tried in vain to obtain a little rest. His wound, being unskilfully dressed, pained him terribly, and his blood was already boiling with fever. When he closed his eyes, terrifying images, horrible visions, added to his misery; and in that state, bordering on delirium, he awaited the end of that cruel night. The day appeared at last; and not half an hour had elapsed since the dawn had driven away the shadows, when the Sire de Jarnonville entered the wounded man's bedroom. At sight of the chevalier, Léodgard seemed to revive. "You wish to speak with me, count," said Jarnonville; "and you are wounded. Is it to the Marquis de Santoval again that you owe this new misfortune?" "No, chevalier; but I have some terrible revelations to make to you. First of all, be good enough to give me that cordial, so that I may obtain sufficient strength to speak.--Good--thanks!" "You seem to be in great pain.--Shall I not first----" "No one but you and myself; for it is not now a question of preserving my life--it is my honor that must be saved--for my father's sake and my child's. Then I will die; indeed, I must; and if this wound is not sufficient, I will find some other way to put an end to my life!" "You make me shudder!"