ot
touched the banquette.

"What are you doing here?" I cried. "What are you doing here?"

He halted on the edge of the banquette as a hurrying man runs into a
wall. He had been all excitement, all fury, as he jumped from his horse;
and now, as he looked at me, he seemed to lose his bearings, to be all
bewilderment. He cried out my name and stood looking at me like a fool.

"What the devil do you mean by coming here?" I cried. "Did I not write
you to stay where you were? How did you get here?" I stepped down on the
banquette and seized him by the shoulders. "Did you receive my letter?"

"Yes," he said, "yes." For a moment that was as far as he got, and he
glanced down the street and then at the heaving beast he had ridden,
which stood with head drooping to the kennel. Then he laid hold of me.
"Davy, is it true that she has yellow fever? Is it true?"

"Who told you?" I demanded angrily.

"Andre," he answered. "Andre said that the lady here had yellow fever.
Is it true?"

"Yes," I said almost inaudibly.

He let his hand fall from my shoulder, and he shivered.

"May God forgive me for what I have done!" he said. "Where is she?"

"For what you have done?" I cried; "you have done an insensate thing
to come here." Suddenly I remembered the sentry at the gate of Fort St.
Charles. "How did you get into the city?" I said; "were you mad to defy
the Baron and his police?"

"Damn the Baron and his police," he answered, striving to pass me. "Let
me in! Let me see her."

Even as he spoke I caught sight of men coming into the street, perhaps
at the corner of the Rue St. Pierre, and then more men, and as we went
into the house I saw that they were running. I closed the doors. There
were cries in the street now, but he did not seem to heed them. He stood
listening, heart-stricken, to the sounds that came through the bedroom
wall, and a spasm crossed his face. Then he turned like a man not to be
denied, to the bedroom door. I was before him, but Madame la Vicomtesse
opened it. And I remember feeling astonishment that she did not show
surprise or alarm.

"What are you doing here, Mr. Temple?" she said.

"My mother, Madame! My mother! I must go to her."

He pushed past her into the bedroom, and I followed perforce. I shall
never forget the scene, though I had but the one glimpse of it,--the
raving, yellowed woman in the bed, not a spectre nor yet even a
semblance of the beauty of Temple Bow. But she was his mother, upon