“Monseigneur, the commander, and good Father Elzear!” were the words which circulated among the anxious crowd, as they waited for news of the baron’s condition, whether or not his wounds permitted them to indulge a hope for his recovery. Pierre des Anbiez and his brother, with a soft and cautious tread, entered the chamber of Raimond V. The old gentleman, still dressed in his holiday attire, even to his long boots, was lying on his bed. His venerable face was livid, and his flowing white locks were stained with blood. Abbé Mascarolus was dressing the wounds in his head, assisted in this pious duty by Honorât de Berrol. Dame Dulceline, whose tears never ceased to flow, was cutting cloth bands, while the majordomo Laramée, standing at the foot of the bed, apparently unconscious of all around him, was sobbing aloud. So absorbed were the actors in this sad scene, that Father Elzear and Pierre des Anbiez entered unperceived. “My brother!” cried the commander and the priest at the same time, falling on their knees at the bedside of the baron, and kissing his cold hands affectionately. “Are the wounds serious, abbé?” said the commander, while Father Elzear remained on his knees. “Alas! is it you, M. Commander?” said the chaplain, clasping his hands in surprise; “if only you had arrived yesterday all these misfortunes would not have happened, and monseigneur would not be in danger of death.” “Great God!” cried Pierre des Anbiez, “we must send at once for Brother Anselm, the surgeon on board my galley. He will assist you; he understands wounds made by weapons of war.” Seeing Luquin Trinquetaille at the door, the commander said to him: “Go immediately for Brother Anselm, and bring him here.” Luquin disappeared to execute the commander’s orders. The abbé was anxiously listening to the laboured breathing of the baron. Finally, the wounded man made a light movement, turned his head from the chaplain without opening his eyes, and uttered a long sigh. The commander and the priest gazed inquiringly into the chaplain’s face, who made a sign of approval, and took advantage of the baron’s position to dress another part of the wounds. Father Elzear, disappointed at not seeing Reine at her father’s bedside at such a time, said, in a low voice to Honorât: “And where is Reine? The poor child no doubt cannot endure this painful sight!” “Great God!” cried Honorât, in astonishment, “and do you not know, Father Elzear, all the misfortunes which have befallen this house? Reine has been carried off by the pirates!” Father Elzear and the commander looked at each other, bewildered. “My God! my God! spare his old age this last blow!” said the priest, clasping his hands in supplication, and looking up to heaven. “Grant us the power to take this unfortunate child from their hands!”