d upon my brow, and I gazed in her face,
and knew it was no phantom. Do not look so much distressed, my dear
Gaston. I am perfectly in my senses."

M. de Bois did not contradict him. Perhaps he remembered the good rule
of never opposing a sick man's vagaries. After a pause he said,--

"Maurice, since you are quite yourself, would you not like to see your
father?"

The wan face of Maurice flushed slightly.

"Is he here?"

"Yes, he has been here for more than a fortnight. The doctor forbade his
entering. Will you not see him now?"

The invalid assented languidly. He had perhaps spoken too much and
overtaxed his strength.

The joy of Count Tristan was deep and voiceless when he was once more
permitted to embrace his son. He was so fearful of touching upon some
painful chord, and of again hearing those frantic ravings, that he had
no language at his command. Maurice, in a faint tone, inquired after his
grandmother and Bertha, and then seemed too weary to prolong the
conversation. Glad at heart, as the count could not but feel, at the
wonderful improvement in his son, he was ill at ease in his presence,
and seemed always to have some haunting dread upon his mind. It was a
relief when the doctor forbade his patient to converse, and hinted that
the count should make his visits very brief.

The next day, when M. de Bois entered, Maurice greeted him in a mournful
tone.

"She did not come last night. I watched for her in vain. The 'sister,'
yonder, went as usual at midnight, and came back in the morning; but,
during the night, a stranger took her place."

What could M. de Bois answer? He gave a sigh of sympathy, but did not
attempt to make any comment.

"She knows perhaps that my father is here, and she will come no more for
fear of being discovered. But I have _seen her_, Gaston! I know I have
seen her! I could not have lived if I had not. And her countenance was
not sad,--it wore a look of patient hope that lent a glory to her face.
The very remembrance of that saint-like expression put to shame the
despair to which I have yielded."

"I--I--I--am"--

M. de Bois could get no further. If he meant to use any argument to
persuade Maurice that it was only a vision, conjured up by his fevered
imagination, which he had seen, the attempt would have been vain.
Maurice clung to the belief that he had really beheld Madeleine, and
that conviction soothed, strengthened, and reanimated him.

CHAPTER XIII.

WEARY DA