he remembered the fight through the path of the fire. Then the door
opened very softly once more, and some one came in, and knelt down at
his side, and was so quiet that she scarcely seemed to breathe. He
wanted to open his eyes, to cry out a name, but he waited, and lips
soft as velvet touched his own. They lay there for a moment, then moved
to his closed eyes, his forehead, his hair--and after that something
rested gently against him.

His eyes shot open. It was Marie-Anne, with her head nestled in the
crook of his arm as she knelt there beside him on the floor. He could
see only a bit of her face, but her hair was very near, crumpled
gloriously on his breast, and he could see the tips of her long lashes
as she remained very still, seeming not to breathe. She did not know he
had roused from his sleep--the first sleep of those three days of
torture which he could not remember now; and he, looking at her, made
no movement to tell her he was awake. One of his hands lay over the
edge of the bed, and so lightly he could scarce feel the weight of her
fingers she laid one of her own upon it, and a little at a time drew it
to her, until the bandaged thing was against her lips. It was strange
she did not hear his heart, which seemed all at once to beat like a
drum inside him!

Suddenly he sensed the fact that his other hand was not bandaged. He
was lying on his side, with his right arm partly under him, and against
that hand he felt the softness of Marie-Anne's cheek, the velvety crush
of her hair!

And then he whispered, "Marie-Anne--"

She still lay, for a moment, utterly motionless. Then, slowly, as if
believing he had spoken her name in his sleep, she raised her head and
looked into his wide-open eyes. There was no word between them in that
breath or two. His bandaged hand and his well hand went to her face and
hair, and then a sobbing cry came from Marie-Anne, and swiftly she
crushed her face down to his, holding him close with both her arms for
a moment. And after that, as on that other day when she kissed him
after the fight, she was up and gone so quickly that her name had
scarcely left his lips when the door closed behind her, and he heard
her running down the hall.

He called after her, "Marie-Anne! Marie-Anne!"

He heard another door, and voices, and quick footsteps again, coming
his way, and he was waiting eagerly, half on his elbow, when into his
room came Nepapinas and Carmin Fanchet. And again he saw the