with this went away to bed.

Then Schmidt found Mrs. Swanwick busy over a book and said: "Madame de
Courval is not well, I fear. Would you kindly see to her?"

"At once," she said, rising.

V

The young man's anxiety about his mother kept him long awake, and his
sleep was troubled, as at times later, by a dream of Carteaux facing him
with a smile, and by that strange sense of physical impotence which
sometimes haunts the dreamer who feels the need for action and cannot
stir.

When at six in the morning De Courval went down-stairs, he met Mrs.
Swanwick. She turned, and when in the hall said: "I have been with thy
mother all night, and now Margaret is with her, but thou wilt do no harm
to enter. She does not seem to me very ill, but we must have a doctor,
and one who has her language. When after a little sleep she wakens, she
wanders, and then is clear again." Seeing his look of anxiety, she
added, "Be sure that we shall care for her."

He said no word of the pain he felt and scarce more than a word of his
gratitude, but, going up-stairs again, knocked softly at a chamber door.

"Come in," he heard, and entered. A low voice whispered, "She is just
awake," and the slight, gray figure of the girl went by him, the door
gently closing behind her. In the dim light he sat down by his mother's
bed, and taking a hot hand in his, heard her murmur: "_Mon fils_--my
son. Angels--angels! I was a stranger, and they took me in; naked and
they clothed me, yes, yes, with kindness. What name did you say?
Carteaux. Is he dead--Carteaux?"

The young man had a thrill of horror. "Mother," he said, "it is I,
Rene."

"Ah," she exclaimed, starting up, "I was dreaming. These good people
were with me all night. You must thank them and see that they are well
paid. Do not forget--well paid--and a tisane. If I had but a tisane _de
guimauve!_"

"Yes, yes," he said; "we shall see. Perhaps some lemonade."

"Yes, yes; go at once and order it." She was imperative, and her voice
had lost its sweetness for a time. "I must not be made to wait."

"Very well, _maman_." As he went out, the gray figure passed in, saying,
"She is better this morning, and I am so grieved for thee."

"Thank you," he murmured, and went down-stairs, seeing no one, and out
to a seat in the garden, to think what he should do. Yes, there must be
a doctor. And Carteaux--what a fool he had been to tell her his name!
The name and the cropped hair of the Jacobin, the