Monsieur, that you are very much injured and shaken.
If you have any arrangements to make, anyone you would wish to
send for, or to see, I earnestly advise you to lose no time."

He watched M. Linders narrowly as he spoke, and saw a sudden
gleam of fear or excitement light up his dull eyes for a
moment, whilst his fingers clutched nervously at the sheet,
but that was all the sign he made.

"So--I am going to die?" he said, after a pause. "Well--that is
ended, then. Send for anyone? Whom should I send for?" he
added, with some vehemence. "For your priests, I suppose, to
come and light candles, and make prayers over me--is that what
you are thinking of, by chance? I won't have one of them--you
need not think of it, do you hear? --not one."

"Pardon me," said Graham, "but it was not of priests I was
thinking just then--indeed, it seems to me that, at these
moments, a man can turn nowhere so safely as to his God--but
there are others----"

He spoke quietly enough, but M. Linders interrupted him with a
fierce, hoarse whisper. "I can arrange my own affairs. I have
no one to send to--no one I wish to see. Let me die in peace."

In spite of his assumed indifference, his whole soul was
filled and shaken with a sudden dread terror; for the moment
he had forgotten even his child. Graham saw it, but could not
urge him further just then; he only passed his arm under the
pillow, so as to raise his head a little, and then said, with
such professional cheerfulness as he could muster,

"_Allons_, Monsieur, you must have courage. Calm yourself; you
are not going to die yet, and we must hope for the best. You
may live to see many people yet."

M. Linders appeared scarcely to hear what he was saying; but
in a few moments his face relaxed, and a new expression came
into it, which seemed to soften the grey, ghastly look.

"My poor little girl!" he said, with a sort of groan--"my
little Madelon!--to leave thee all alone, _pauvre petite!_"

"It was precisely of her that I wished to speak," said Graham.
"I am afraid, in any case, you must look forward to a long
illness, and, on her account, is there no friend, no relation
you would wish to send for?"

"I have no friends--no relations," said M. Linders,
impatiently. "A long illness? Bah! M. le Docteur, I know, and
you know that I am going to die--to-day, to-morrow, who knows?--
and she will be left alone. She has no one in the world but
me, and she has been foolish enough to love