orch his parched
lips. The fair, clustering curls were matted and tangled about his brow;
his arms were tossing restlessly about. He sprang up into a sitting
posture as Gaston appeared at the door, and gazed at him eagerly; then
stared around, peering into every corner of the chamber, as though in
quest of some one. Those searching glances were followed by a look of
blank despair that settled heavily upon his pain-contracted features as
he sank back and closed his eyes.

Beside the bed sat a woman, clad in the shapeless dress of black serge,
and wearing the widely projecting white bonnet and cape, black veil,
white band across the brow, and beneath the chin, which compose the
attire of a sister _de bon secours_. She was one of that community of
self-abnegating women, who, bound by holy vows, devote their lives to
the care of the suffering, and are the most skilful, tender, and zealous
nurses that France affords.

Just beyond the good "sister" stood a young man, poring over a piece of
paper, which had the appearance of a medical prescription: a
spirited-looking youth, whose harmonious and intellectual cast of
features was heightened to rare beauty by richly mellow coloring, and
the silken curves of a beard and moustache unprofaned by a
razor,--curves softly traced above the fresh, rubious lips, and
gracefully deepening about the cheeks and chin,--curves that disappear
forever when the civilized barbarism of shaving has been accepted.

He came forward when M. de Bois entered, and accosted him in an earnest,
rapid tone.

"I hope, sir, you are a friend of this gentleman. Am I right in my
supposition?"

"Yes--yes--what--what has happened?" asked M. de Bois, his countenance
plainly betokening his alarm.

"I occupy the adjoining apartment," continued the stranger. "My name is
Walton. Three nights ago I was startled by the sound of some object
falling heavily near my door, followed by a deep groan. I found this
gentleman lying on the ground, apparently insensible. I carried him into
his chamber, laid him upon the bed, and summoned the _concierge_. The
name inscribed upon her book is the Viscount Maurice de Gramont, and his
last residence the chateau of his father, Count Tristan de Gramont, in
Brittany, near Rennes. I took upon myself the responsibility of calling
a physician,--Dr. Dupont,--and, through his advice, of engaging this
good 'sister,' one of the '_soeurs de bon secours_,' as a nurse. Dr.
Dupont wrote to his p