thinking no doubt
that Valentin was still asleep, had not lowered the tones of a voice
developed in mountain air.

"No better and no worse," she said. "He coughed all last night again fit
to kill himself. Poor gentleman, he coughs and spits till it is piteous.
My husband and I often wonder to each other where he gets the strength
from to cough like that. It goes to your heart. What a cursed complaint
it is! He has no strength at all. I am always afraid I shall find him
dead in his bed some morning. He is every bit as pale as a waxen Christ.
_Dame_! I watch him while he dresses; his poor body is as thin as a
nail. And he does not feel well now; but no matter. It's all the same;
he wears himself out with running about as if he had health and to
spare. All the same, he is very brave, for he never complains at all.
But really he would be better under the earth than on it, for he is
enduring the agonies of Christ. I don't wish that myself, sir; it is
quite in our interests; but even if he didn't pay us what he does, I
should be just as fond of him; it is not our own interest that is our
motive.

"Ah, _mon Dieu_!" she continued, "Parisians are the people for these
dogs' diseases. Where did he catch it, now? Poor young man! And he is so
sure that he is going to get well! That fever just gnaws him, you know;
it eats him away; it will be the death of him. He has no notion whatever
of that; he does not know it, sir; he sees nothing----You mustn't cry
about him, M. Jonathan; you must remember that he will be happy, and
will not suffer any more. You ought to make a neuvaine for him; I have
seen wonderful cures come of the nine days' prayer, and I would gladly
pay for a wax taper to save such a gentle creature, so good he is, a
paschal lamb----"

As Raphael's voice had grown too weak to allow him to make himself
heard, he was compelled to listen to this horrible loquacity. His
irritation, however, drove him out of bed at length, and he appeared
upon the threshold.

"Old scoundrel!" he shouted to Jonathan; "do you mean to put me to
death?"

The peasant woman took him for a ghost, and fled.

"I forbid you to have any anxiety whatever about my health," Raphael
went on.

"Yes, my Lord Marquis," said the old servant, wiping away his tears.

"And for the future you had very much better not come here without my
orders."

Jonathan meant to be obedient, but in the look full of pity and
devotion that he gave the Marquis before he