"Very good," he answered; then suddenly changing his ideas, he muttered--"She will come, she promised it me. But no, she will not come; she is dead to me henceforth--dead! dead!" he repeated, in a hollow voice, with different intonations; then he uttered a piercing cry--"Oh, heaven! How I suffer!" he exclaimed, bursting into sobs, while a torrent of tears inundated his face. He buried his head in his hands, and fell back on his bed. The two sailors anxiously examined the surgeon's impassive face, trying to read in his features what they had to hope or fear. The latter uttered a deep sigh of relief, passed his hand over his damp forehead, and turning to Michael, said-- "Heaven be praised! He sheds tears--he is saved." "Heaven be praised!" the sailors repeated, crossing themselves devoutly. "Do you think he is mad, Major?" Michael asked, in a trembling voice. "No, it is not madness, but delirium; he will soon fall asleep--do not leave him; when he awakes he will remember nothing. If he ask for drink give him the potion I have prepared, and which is on that table." "Yes, Major." "Now I am going to retire; if any unforeseen accident occur, warn me at once; but, in any case, I shall look in again tonight." The surgeon left the cabin; his previsions were soon realised, M. de Barmont gradually fell into a calm and peaceful sleep. The two sailors stood motionless by his bedside; no nurse could have watched a patient with greater care and more delicate attention than did these two men, whose exterior seemed so hard, but whose hearts were really so kind. The whole night passed away thus; the surgeon had come in several times, but after a few minutes' examination he withdrew with an air of satisfaction, and laying a finger on his lips. About morning, at the first sunbeam that entered the cabin, the Count made a slight movement, opened his eyes, and slightly turned his head. "My good Michael, give me some drink," he said, in a feeble voice. The sailor handed him a glass. "I feel crushed," he muttered; "have I been ill?" "Yes, a little," the sailor replied; "but now it is all over, thank heaven! You need only have patience." "I feel the motion of the frigate--are we under weigh?" "Yes, Commandant." "And who gave the orders?" "Yourself, last night." "Ah!" he remarked, as he handed back the glass. His head fell heavily on the pillow again, and he was silent. Still, he did not sleep; his eyes were opened, and gazed anxiously all around. "I remember," he murmured, while two tears welled in his eyes; then he suddenly addressed Michael. "It was you who picked me up and brought me aboard?" "Yes, Captain, 'twas." "Thanks! and yet it would have perhaps been better to leave me to die." The sailor shrugged his shoulders disdainfully. "That is a fine idea, strike me!" he grumbled. "Oh, if you only knew," he said, sorrowfully. "I knew all; did I not warn you of it the first day?"