usly.

"You are burning with fever." She drew the cool palm of her hand
across his heated forehead.

"Jehan!" called the marquis. The touch of that hand had caused him an
indescribable sensation.

"I am here, Monsieur," replied Jehan.

Sister Benie leaned back out of the sunlight.

"A pitcher of water; I am thirsty."

Jehan took the pitcher fumblingly. He was yellow with fear and wonder.

"You have seen my son?" asked the marquis, when the door closed.

"You ought to be proud of such a son, Monsieur."

The marquis was a bit disconcerted. "I know him well. Do you think he
will become great and respected?"

"He has already become respected." She was vaguely distressed and
puzzled.

"But will he become great?"

"That is for God to decide."

"Of what consists greatness?"

"It is greatness to forgive."

The marquis turned his head away. He was chagrined. "Monsieur le
Comte will never become great then. He will never forgive me for being
his father."

"Ah, Monsieur, I do not like that tone of yours. There have been words
between you, and you are not forgiving. Do you not love your son?"

"The love of children is the woman's part; man plays it but ill.
Perhaps there were some things which I failed to learn." Love his son?
A grim smile played over his purple lips. Why, he had ceased even to
love himself!

To her eyes the smile resembled a spasm of pain. "Does your head
ache?" she asked. She put her arm under his head and placed it more
comfortably on the pillow.

"Yes, my head is always aching. I have not lived well, and nature is
claiming her tithes." He closed his eyes, surrendering to the restful
touch of the cool palm. By and by he slept; and she sat there watching
till morning merged into drowsy noon. The agony was begun. And while
he slept the mask of calm left her face, revealing the soul. From time
to time she raised her eyes toward heaven, and continually her lips
moved in prayer.

"Monsieur Paul," said Breton gaily, "do we return to France on the
Henri IV?"

"No, lad; nor on many a ship to come and go."

Breton's heart contracted. "But Monsieur le Marquis . . . ?"

"Will return alone. Go with him, lad; you are homesick. Go and marry
old Martin's daughter, and be happy. It would be wrong for me to rob
you of your youth's right."

"But you, Monsieur?"

"I shall remain here. I have my time to serve. After that, France,
maybe . . . or become a grand seigneur.