wenty-four hours." Then, turning
to Pougeot: "Oh, he insists on seeing you alone. Only a minute mind!"

With a thrill of emotion the commissary entered the silent, darkened room
where his friend lay, swathed in bandages and supported on a water bed to
lessen the pain.

"It's all right Paul," said M. Pougeot, "I've just talked with the doctor."

"Thanks, Lucien," answered a weak voice in the white bundle. "I'm going to
pull through--I've got to, but--if anything should go wrong, I want you to
have the main points. Come nearer."

The commissary motioned to the nurse, who withdrew. Then he bent close to
the injured man and listened intently while Coquenil, speaking with an
effort and with frequent pauses, related briefly what had happened.

"God in heaven!" muttered Pougeot. "He'll pay for this!"

"Yes, I--I think he'll pay for it, but--Lucien, do nothing until I am able
to decide things with you. Say nothing to anyone, not even to the doctor.
And don't give our names."

"No, no, I'll see to that."

"The girl mustn't talk, tell her she--_mustn't talk_. And--Lucien?"

"Yes?"

"She may be delirious--_I_ may be delirious, I feel queer--now. You
must--make sure of these--nurses."

"Yes, Paul, I will."

"And--watch the girl! Something has happened to--her mind. She's forgotten
or--_remembered!_ Get the best specialist in Paris and--get Duprat. Do
whatever they advise--no matter what it costs. Everything depends on--her."

"I'll do exactly as you say, old friend," whispered the other. Then, at a
warning signal from the nurse: "Don't worry now. Just rest and get well."
He rose to go. "Until to-morrow, Paul."

The sick man's reply was only a faint murmur, and Pougeot stole softly out
of the room, turning at the door for an anxious glance toward the white
bed.

This was the first of many visits to the hospital by the devoted commissary
and of many anxious hours at that distressed bedside. Before midnight
Coquenil was in raging delirium with a temperature of one hundred and five,
and the next morning, when Pougeot called, the doctor looked grave. They
were in for a siege of brain fever with erysipelas to be fought off, if
possible.

Poor Coquenil! His body was in torture and his mind in greater torture.
Over and over again, those days, he lived through his struggle with the
fire, he rescued Alice, he played with the fairies, he went back after the
doll. Over and over again!

And when the fever fell and his mind