“Gently, monsieur, gently,” said a voice; and I opened my eyes to see a kindly woman’s face bending over me. “You must lie still,” she added, and placed a cool hand upon my forehead. “You must go to sleep.” “But where am I?” I asked. “You are with friends.” “And Mademoiselle de Chambray?” “She also is safe.” I closed my eyes with a deep sigh of thankfulness. Safe, safe, safe--I repeated the word to myself again and again. Safe! Surely Providence had guarded us! Safe.... When I awoke the second time it was night, and I lay for long staring up through the darkness and piecing together the adventures which had befallen me since that moment when Dubosq had halted me on the highway from Tours. My heart quickened as I recalled that evening in the garden, as I rebuilt it, as I lived it over again, second by second. Ah, that had been the one hour of my life! And yet, even in the shadow of the perils which followed, I had not been unhappy, for she had been beside me, with her clear eyes and smiling lips; and if she chose to smite me now and then, why certainly I had invited the blows and even, in a way, deserved them. Then at the end I had won. That final disaster had driven her straight into my arms, as a storm drives the boats to harbor. She had laid her head upon my shoulder and whispered that she loved me! My pulses quickened at thought of it. She loved me--that superb, matchless woman loved me! What did all the rest matter--the world’s opinion, my plighted word? I would take her--I would never give her up! She loved me! That should be my justification. And gripping that thought tight against my heart I dropped away to sleep. The sun was shining brightly at the open window when I awakened for the third time, and again I saw that kindly face bending above me. “You are better, monsieur?” she asked; and again her cool hand touched my forehead. “Yes--your fever is nearly gone.” “I am quite well,” I assured her, “except for a little soreness of the head. Where are my clothes?” “You will not need them for some days yet,” she said, smiling at my eagerness. “Nonsense!” I protested. “I must get up at once;” and I made a movement to throw back the covers, but she held my hands, and I found with surprise that she was stronger than I. “You see,” she added, still smiling, “you are weaker than you thought.” “But I cannot lie here,” I cried half angrily. “I must get up. I have many things to do.” I shrank somehow from asking her outright where my love was waiting, why she did not come to me. Perhaps she was ill and could not come. That injury to the ankle.... “I must get up,” I repeated doggedly; but again she held me back, her kindly eyes reading the trouble in my face. “If you will lie still,” she said, “I will bring you some one who will tell you all you wish to know--and whom, besides, I think you will be very glad to see.” “Thank you,” I answered, my heart beating madly. “At once?”