The Marquis had not fainted. He had had the terrors of death; he now felt the return of his breathing and of life. As he had his face turned towards the window, he did not see Caroline enter, but he heard her, and thinking it was the Duke, "Do not be alarmed," he said, in a feeble voice; "it is passing off. Aid me to rise, I have no longer the strength." Caroline rushed forward and raised him up with the energy of an overexcited will. It was only when he found himself again in his chair that he recognized her, or thought he recognized her, for his sight, still dim, was crossed by blue waves, and his limbs were so cold and rigid that they were insensible to the touch of the arms and dress of Caroline. "Heaven! is it a dream?" he said, with a sort of wildness. "You! is it you?" "Yes, certainly it is I," she answered; "I heard you groan. What is the matter? What shall I do? Call your brother, must I not? But I dare not leave you again. How do you feel? What has happened to you?" "My brother," rejoined the Marquis, rousing himself enough to recover his memory. "Ah! it was he who led you here. Where is he?" "He is not about; he knows nothing of this." "You have not seen him?" "No, I will go and have him called." "Ah! do not leave me." "Well, then, I will not; but to aid you--" "Nothing, nothing! I know what it is; it is nothing. Do not be alarmed; you see I am quiet. And--you are here!--and you knew nothing?" "Nothing in the world. For some days I have found you changed--I thought, indeed, that you were ill, but I dared not be anxious--" "And now at this moment--did I call you?--What--what did I say?" "Nothing. You broke this window-pane in falling perhaps. Has it not wounded you?" And Caroline, approaching the light, took up and examined the hands of the Marquis. The right one was quite badly cut: she washed away the blood, adroitly removed the particles of glass, and dressed the wound. Urbain submitted, regarding her with the mingled astonishment and tenderness of a man who, picked up on the battle-field, discovers himself in friendly hands. He repeated feebly, "My brother, then, has told you nothing,--is it true?" She did not at all understand this question, which seemed to have gained the fixedness of a diseased fancy, and to banish it she recounted to him, while binding up his hand, that she had believed him in the hands of assassins. "It was absurd, to be sure," she said, forcing herself to be cheerful; "but how could I help it? That fear took possession of me, and I ran hither, as to a fire, without informing any one." "And if that had been really the case, you were coming here to expose yourself to danger?"