ullness,
the deliberate inflection, of a man accustomed to speak to an
audience.

"Yes," said O'Neill. "Were you sleeping?"

The sick man smiled. "A peu pres," he answered.

"I was remembering certain matters--dreaming, in effect."

He shifted his head on his pillow, and his eyes traveled to and fro
about the great room.

"If this goes on," he said, "I shall have to ask a favor of
somebody." His quick look, with its suggestion of mockery, rested on
O'Neill. "And that would be dreadful," he concluded.

"If it's anything I can do, I'll do it, of course," said O'Neill
awkwardly.

He aided Buscarlet to set the bed to rights and change the pillow-
cover, conscious that Regnault was watching him all the time with a
smile.

"One should have a nun here," remarked Buscarlet. "They come for so
much a day, and do everything."

"Yes," said Regnault;--"everything. Who could stand that!"

He shifted in his bed cautiously, for he knew that any movement might
provoke another spasm.

"Now, tell me, O'Neill," he said, in the tone of commonplace
conversation. "That doctor--the one that walked like a duck--he was
impressive, eh?"

O'Neill sat down on the foot of the bed.

"He's the best man in Paris," he answered. "He did his best to be
impressive. He thought we weren't taking your illness seriously
enough."

"Well," said Regnault, his fingers fidgeting on the coverlet, "I can
be serious when I like. I'm serious now, foi de gentilhomme. Did he
say when I should die!"

"Yes," replied O'Neill. "He said you'd break like the stem of a pipe
at the first strain."

Regnault's eyes were half closed. "Metaphor, eh?" he suggested
dreamily.

"He said," continued O'Neill, "that you were not to move sharply, not
to laugh or cry, not to be much amused or surprised--in fact, you
were to keep absolutely quiet. He suggested, too, that you'd had your
share of emotions, and would be better without them now."

Regnault smiled again. "Wonderful," he said softly. "They teach them
all that in the hospitals. Then, in effect, I hold this appointment
during good Conduct?"

"That's the idea," said O'Neill gravely.

There was a long pause; Regnault seemed to be thinking deeply. The
amyl had brought color back to his face; except for the disorder of
his long white hair he seemed to be his normal self.

"It will not be amusing," he said at length. "For you, I mean."

"Oh, I shall be all right," answered O'Neill, but the same thought
had