atient's father; but no answer has been received. I
have been with your friend very constantly. You perceive he has a raging
fever; he talks a great deal, but too incoherently to be able to answer
any questions or to give any directions."

This information was communicated with a quick, energetic intonation,
while the speaker stood fanning Maurice, and preventing the hand which
he flung about from striking against the wall. There was a confident
rapidity in the stranger's movements, a vigorous manliness and
self-dependence in his bearing, strikingly dissimilar to the deportment
which usually characterizes young Parisians at the same age. Though he
spoke the French language with fluent correctness, a slightly foreign
accent betrayed to M. de Bois that he was not a native of France.

Gaston thanked him as warmly as his troublesome impediment permitted,
and said that he would himself write to the Count de Gramont. Then,
bending over his friend, took his hot, unquiet hand, and spoke to him
again and again. His voice failed to touch any chord of memory and cause
it to vibrate in recognition. Maurice was muttering the same word over
and over; Gaston hardly needed to bow his head to catch the imperfect
sound; he knew, before he heard distinctly, that it was the name of
"Madeleine."

"Had you not better write your letter _immediately_?" asked young
Walton. "Will you walk into my room? I do not see any writing materials
here. Mine are at your service."

Gaston, as he followed the stranger into the adjoining chamber, could
not but be struck by the easy, off-hand, decided manner in which he
spoke, and the promptitude with which he desired to accomplish the work
to be done.

Mr. Walton's sitting-room, which was separated from his bed-chamber, was
much larger than the apartment of Maurice. It had an air of great
comfort, if not of decided elegance, and testified to the literary and
artistic taste of its occupant. The walls were decorated with fine
photographic views, and some early efforts in painting. Here stood an
easel, holding an unfinished picture; there an open piano; further on a
convenient writing-table; in the centre another table covered with books
and portfolios; materials for writing and sketching were scattered about
with a bachelor's disregard for order.

"I will clear you a space here," said he, sweeping the contents of one
table upon another, already overburdened. "Everything is in confusion;
for I have been w