in cracks. Beyond that I would not go, into speculation
I dared not venture. They remained cracks, and I went to sleep thanking
God. When I awoke a breeze came in cool, fitful gusts, and on it the
scent of camellias. I thought of turning my head, and I remember
wondering for a long time over the expediency of this move. What would
happen if I did! Perhaps the visions would come back, perhaps my head
would come off. Finally I decided to risk it, and the first thing that I
beheld was a palm-leaf fan, moving slowly. That fact gave me food for
thought, and contented me for a while. Then I hit upon the idea that
there must be something behind the fan. I was distinctly pleased by this
astuteness, and I spent more time in speculation. Whatever it was, it
had a tantalizing elusiveness, keeping the fan between it and me. This
was not fair.

I had an inspiration. If I feigned to be asleep, perhaps the thing
behind the fan would come out. I shut my eyes. The breeze continued
steadily. Surely no human being could fan as long as that without being
tired! I opened my eyes twice, but the thing was inscrutable. Then I
heard a sound that I knew to be a footstep upon boards. A voice
whispered:--

"The delirium has left him."

Another voice, a man's voice, answered:--

"Thank God! Let me fan him. You are tired."

"I am not tired," answered the first voice.

"I do not see how you have stood it," said the man's voice. "You will
kill yourself, Madame la Vicomtesse. The danger is past now."

"I hope so, Mr. Temple," said the first voice. "Please go away. You may
come back in half an hour."

I heard the footsteps retreating. Then I said: "I am not asleep."

The fan stopped for a brief instant and then went on vibrating
inexorably. I was entranced at the thought of what I had done. I had
spoken, though indeed it seemed to have had no effect. Could it be that
I hadn't spoken? I began to be frightened at this, when gradually
something crept into my mind and drove the fear out. I did not grasp
what this was at first, it was like the first staining of wine on the
eastern sky to one who sees a sunrise. And then the thought grew even as
the light grows, tinged by prismatic colors, until at length a memory
struck into my soul like a shaft of light. I spoke her name,
unblushingly, aloud.

"Helene!"

The fan stopped. There was a silence that seemed an eternity as the palm
leaf trembled in her hand, there was an answer that strove tenderly