thick upon his tongue,
lost their coherence, and died away. And then he began to speak again,
and Marie-Louise leaned closer to catch the words. "See, it is a
beacon--and it is for you, Marie-Louise, because it is you ... _sacre
nom_, why do you say that? ... I can make a thousand ... has it not
those lips that I could fashion even in the dark ... a thousand, I tell
you ... how--not another, when--"

"_Tiens_!" exclaimed the doctor briskly. "That is good! He is
regaining consciousness now, and--heh!--but what is the matter,
mademoiselle?"

With a startled little cry, Marie-Louise was on her feet. She was
vaguely conscious that, while they seemed to call up all her life, all
the old life of Bernay-sur-Mer, her life and Jean's when they had been
together, Jean's words too held some strange relation to something that
had just happened here that night, some strange, puzzling, bewildering
significance--and that then all this seemed swept away from her on the
instant before a still greater significance in the doctor's words.
What had the doctor said--that Jean was returning to consciousness! It
brought joy and gladness and hope surging over her; but it brought too
something cruel and hard and cold, as though a sentence had been
pronounced upon her. She must go now, whether she wanted to or not.
Jean must not see her. It was not Mademoiselle Bliss she had to
consider now--it was Jean. He must not see her--he must not even know
that she had been there. He must not, he must not see her--he must not
know! And then a sort of panic fear seized her, and she ran around the
bed to the doctor's side.

"Monsieur, monsieur, I must go!" she cried agitatedly. "And he must
not know--he must not know that I--that--that any one has been here.
Monsieur, will--will you promise that?"

"But, mademoiselle!"--he looked at her in amazement. "But,
mademoiselle, I--"

She caught his hands wildly, and dropped upon her knees.

"See, monsieur, see, I beg it of you!" she pleaded almost hysterically.
"It is not much to ask--that you will not tell. Promise me, monsieur,
promise me! Why should he know, why should any one know? I have done
no harm! And it--it is for his sake that I ask it. Monsieur,
monsieur, you will promise!"

"I see no reason now why I should say anything," he answered gravely;
"but if I promise it must be with a reservation. I will promise you,
mademoiselle, that unless circumstances leave me no choice I will