Philip did not go to bed. He begged Gabrielle to come two or three times during the night to tell him how the child fared, and he remained in the library. Dora watched all night by Eva's bed. She was valiant, and inspired others with her own brave spirit. She had thrown aside the thought of all that had happened in the drawing-room a few hours before; far, indeed, from her thoughts was the man who had insulted her, and who no longer existed in her thoughts--the distracted mother had swamped the indignant woman. It was with death that she had to fight now, and she fought with a _sang-froid_ and a courage that were the astonishment and admiration of all who surrounded her. The morning and the afternoon passed without new disquieting symptoms arising, and at night the doctor left his patient going on satisfactorily. The following morning, about seven o'clock, Dora, worn out with excitement, had fallen into a dose. Gabrielle went to tell Philip that Eva also was sleeping, and that such sleep was a very good sign. Their hopes rose considerably. Philip could not resist the longing he had to go and look upon his wife and child, both sleeping calmly at last, unconscious of pain and anxiety. He crept stealthily upstairs, opened very softly the door of the dear child's room, and with loving eyes looked towards the bed. Unhappily, Eva had just woke up. She saw in the doorway her father whom she loved, and had not seen for several days; she raised herself eagerly and tried to call, "Daddy." The little form fell back heavily upon the pillow. When Gabrielle came into the room again, Dora was still sleeping. Eva slept too, but it was the sleep from which none waken. XV THE SEPARATION When Dora awoke, Gabrielle was standing at the bedside, motionless, beautiful in her impassive grace, and looking like one of the angels that painters represent at the bedside of children whose souls they have come to bear to the abode of the seraphim.