Now for bed and a long, peaceful sleep for the first time in a week! March 13. To-day, for the first time, I have seen Louis. He was much better, and he wanted to see us so much that Miss Yvonne sent over the servant to tell us that we three could come over (Dave had gone yesterday), but that we all had better not see him at once. Carol and the Imp and I went over. One by one we were allowed to go up to the room. But we were warned that no one must stay more than five minutes, and that we mustn't talk to Louis about anything exciting. Carol went first, but she didn't stay anywhere near her five minutes, for I timed her by the parlor clock. It seemed as if she had scarcely had time to go up and walk into the room before she must have walked out again. She came down looking awfully solemn and scared, and whispered: "He looks awful,--as if he'd been _so_ sick! I was frightened. The trained nurse was there, and Monsieur, too. I didn't know what on earth to say, so I didn't stay but a minute." Then the Imp went up, and I guess she was more successful, for she stayed two minutes over her time. We heard her say, "Hello, old sport!" as she entered the room, and we even heard a sound like Louis's laugh. Then there was a great chattering in French, and I knew that she and Monsieur were talking together. When she came down she said that Monsieur had been thanking her for what she did on the day of the accident, and that she had been trying to convince him she hadn't done anything, except to obey my directions. He wouldn't stand for that, however, and insisted that she had been the means of saving Louis's life. Nothing she could say would persuade him differently. Then it came my turn, and I went up with my knees shaking, like the silly goose I am, for there was nothing on earth to be afraid of. But somehow it always did seem a solemn thing to me to see a person for the first time after he has been so near to death. But they shook worse when I got into the room and saw how really awful Louis looked. He is like a thin shadow of his former self, and _so_ white and hollow-eyed. He's never been sick before, to any extent, so I never dreamed he could look like that. I murmured something or other to Louis,--I can't remember what,--and then Monsieur began to thank me in very elaborate and formal English for what I had done on the day of the accident. I tried to answer that it wasn't anything, and I could easily see that he didn't think it _was_ so much, compared to what the Imp had done. But Louis spoke up in the weakest voice, and declared: "Sue is a trump! _I_ know what she did, for I wasn't unconscious _all_ of the time. Between them they patched me up beautifully." But Monsieur wasn't much impressed. It's plain to be seen that the Imp is _his_ favorite. I don't care a scrap, however, since Louis said what he did!