Raymond protested; but it was no use, Sir Simon would have his own way; he wrote the blank check and saw it locked up in the count’s private drawer. M. de la Bourbonais argued from this reckless committal of his signature that the baronet’s finances were in a flourishing condition, and was greatly rejoiced. Alas! if the truth were known, they had never been in a sorrier plight. He had offered the bank-notes in all sincerity, but if Raymond had accepted it, Sir Simon would have been at his wit’s end to find the ready money for his journey. But he kept this dark, and rather led his friend to suppose him flush of money; it was the only chance of getting him to accept his generosity. “Mind you keep me constantly informed how Franceline gets on,” were his parting words; and M. de la Bourbonais promised. She got on in pretty much the same way for some time. Languid and pale, but not suffering; and she had no cough, and no return of the symptoms that had alarmed them all so much. Angélique watched her as a cat watches a mouse, but even her practised eye could detect no definite cause for anxiety. One morning, about a fortnight after Sir Simon’s departure, Franceline was alone in the little sitting-room--her father had gone to do some shopping for her in the town, as it was too cold for her to venture out--when Sir Ponsonby Anwyll called. The moment she saw him she flushed up, partly with surprise, partly with pleasure. A casual observer would have concluded this to be a good sign for the visitor; a male friend would have unhesitatingly pronounced him a lucky dog. Ponsonby himself felt slightly elated. “I heard you were ill,” he said, “and as I am at home on leave for a few days, I could not resist coming to inquire for you. You are not displeased with me for coming?” “No, indeed; it is very kind of you. I am glad to see you,” Franceline replied with bright, grateful eyes. Hope bounded up high in Ponsonby. “They told me you had been very ill. I hope it is not true. You don’t look it,” he said anxiously. “I have been frightening them a little more than it was worth; but I am quite well now. How is Lady Anwyll?” “Thank you, she’s just as usual; in very good health and a tremendous bustle. You know I always put the house topsy-turvy when I come down. Not that I mean to do it; it seems to come of itself as a natural consequence of my being there,” he explained, laughing. “Is M. de la Bourbonais quite well?” “Quite well. He will be in presently; he is only gone to make a few purchases for me.” “How anxious he must have been while you were ill!” “Dear papa! yes he was.” “Do you ride much now?” “Not at all. I am forbidden to take any violent exercise for the present.” All obvious subjects being now exhausted, there ensued a pause. Ponsonby was the first to break it. “Have you forgiven me, Franceline?” he said, looking at her tenderly, and with a sort of sheepish timidity.