that he was hiding you away here. That's a secret between himself and
those who love you. He thought you were lost. Nobody will ever disturb
you, you may be sure of that! Uncle Jeanbernat is smoking his pipe by
his lettuce bed. The others will get news of you on the sly. Even the
doctor isn't coming back any more. I am to be your doctor now. You don't
want any more physic, it seems. What you now want is to be loved; do you
see?'

He did not seem to hear her, his brain as yet was void. His eyes,
although his head remained motionless, wandered inquiringly round the
room, and it struck her that he was wondering where he might be.

'This is my room,' she said. 'I have given it to you. Isn't it a pretty
one? I took the finest pieces of furniture out of the lumber attic, and
then I made those calico curtains to prevent the daylight from dazzling
me. And you're not putting me out a bit. I shall sleep on the second
floor. There are three or four empty rooms there.'

Still he looked anxious.

'You're alone?' he asked.

'Yes; why do you ask that?'

He made no answer, but muttered wearily: 'I have been dreaming, I am
always dreaming. I hear bells ringing, and they tire me.'

And after a pause he went on: 'Go and shut the door, bolt it; I want you
to be alone, quite alone.'

When she came back, bringing a chair with her, and sat down by his
pillow, he looked as gleeful as a child, and kept on saying: 'Nobody can
come in now. I shall not hear those bells any more. When you are talking
to me, it rests me.'

'Would you like something to drink?' she asked.

He made a sign that he was not thirsty. He looked at Albine's hands as
if so astonished, so delighted to see them, that with a smile she laid
one on the edge of his pillow. Then he let his head glide down, and
rested his cheek against that small, cool hand, saying, with a light
laugh: 'Ah! it's as soft as silk. It is just as if it were sending a
cool breeze through my hair. Don't take it away, please.'

Then came another long spell of silence. They gazed on one another with
loving kindliness--Albine calmly scanning herself in the convalescent's
eyes, Serge apparently listening to some faint whisper from the small,
cool hand.

'Your hand is so nice,' he said once more. 'You can't fancy what good it
does me. It seems to steal inside me, and take away all the pain in my
limbs. It's as if I were being soothed all over, relieved, cured.'

He gently rubbed his cheek agains