It was the voice of Essarès Bey. Although this was only natural, since at that moment Essarès must be getting his papers ready and preparing his flight, Patrice was so much taken aback that he did not know what to say and spoke the first words that came into his head: "Is that Essarès Bey?" "Yes. Who are you?" "I'm one of the wounded at the hospital, now under treatment at the home. . . ." "Captain Belval, perhaps?" Patrice was absolutely amazed. So Coralie's husband knew him by name? He stammered: "Yes . . . Captain Belval." "What a lucky thing!" cried Essarès Bey, in a tone of delight. "I rang you up a moment ago, at the home, Captain Belval, to ask . . ." "Oh, it was you!" interrupted Patrice, whose astonishment knew no bounds. "Yes, I wanted to know at what time I could speak to Captain Belval in order to thank him." "It was _you_! . . . It was _you_! . . ." Patrice repeated, more and more thunderstruck. Essarès' intonation denoted a certain surprise. "Yes, wasn't it a curious coincidence?" he said. "Unfortunately, I was cut off, or rather my call was interrupted by somebody else." "Then you heard?" "What, Captain Belval?" "Cries." "Cries?" "At least, so it seemed to me; but the connection was very indistinct." "All that I heard was somebody asking for you, somebody who was in a great hurry; and, as I was not, I hung up the telephone and postponed the pleasure of thanking you." "Of thanking me?" "Yes, I have heard how my wife was assaulted last night and how you came to her rescue. And I am anxious to see you and express my gratitude. Shall we make an appointment? Could we meet at the hospital, for instance, at three o'clock this afternoon?" Patrice made no reply. The audacity of this man, threatened with arrest and preparing for flight, baffled him. At the same time, he was wondering what Essarès' real object had been in telephoning to him without being in any way obliged to. But Belval's silence in no way troubled the banker, who continued his civilities and ended the inscrutable conversation with a monologue in which he replied with the greatest ease to questions which he kept putting to himself. In spite of everything, Patrice felt more comfortable. He went back to his room, lay down on his bed and slept for two hours. Then he sent for Ya-Bon. "This time," he said, "try to control your nerves and not to lose your head as you did just now. You were absurd. But don't let's talk about it. Have you had your breakfast? No? No more have I. Have you seen the doctor? No? No more have I. And the surgeon has just promised to take off this beastly bandage. You can imagine how pleased I am. A wooden leg is all very well; but a head wrapped up in lint, for a lover, never! Get on, look sharp. When we're ready, we'll start for the hospital. Little Mother Coralie can't forbid me to see her there!"