ght of
suffering. How many invalids had breathed their last in her arms during
the fifteen years that she had gone from pillow to pillow!

Noel, during this time, had retired into the window recess, and pressed
his burning brow against the panes.

Of what was he thinking, while she who had given him so many proofs of
maternal tenderness and devotion was dying a few paces from him? Did
he regret her? was he not thinking rather of the grand and magnificent
existence which awaited him on the other side of the river, at the
Faubourg St. Germain? He turned abruptly round on hearing his friend's
voice.

"It is done," said the doctor; "we have only now to wait the effect
of the mustard. If she feels it, it will be a good sign; if it has no
effect, we will try cupping."

"And if that does not succeed?"

The doctor answered only with a shrug of the shoulders, which showed his
inability to do more.

"I understand your silence, Herve," murmured Noel. "Alas! you told me
last night she was lost."

"Scientifically, yes; but I do not yet despair. It is hardly a year ago
that the father-in-law of one of our comrades recovered from an almost
identical attack; and I saw him when he was much worse than this;
suppuration had set in."

"It breaks my heart to see her in this state," resumed Noel. "Must she
die without recovering her reason even for one moment? Will she not
recognise me, speak one word to me?"

"Who knows? This disease, my poor friend, baffles all foresight. Each
moment, the aspect may change, according as the inflammation affects
such or such a part of the brain. She is now in a state of utter
insensibility, of complete prostration of all her intellectual
faculties, of coma, of paralysis so to say; to-morrow, she may be seized
with convulsions, accompanied with a fierce delirium."

"And will she speak then?"

"Certainly; but that will neither modify the nature nor the gravity of
the disease."

"And will she recover her reason?"

"Perhaps," answered the doctor, looking fixedly at his friend; "but why
do you ask that?"

"Ah, my dear Herve, one word from Madame Gerdy, only one, would be of
such use to me!"

"For your affair, eh! Well, I can tell you nothing, can promise you
nothing. You have as many chances in your favour as against you;
only, do not leave her. If her intelligence returns, it will be only
momentary, try and profit by it. But I must go," added the doctor; "I
have still three calls to make."