ul aspect.

CHAPTER XIX.~~THE CONVALESCENT.

"And to think that for five years I have been allowed to remain in the
belief that my Jack was a thief!"

"But, Dr. Rivals--"

"And that if I had not happened to ask for a glass of milk at the
Archambaulds, I should have continued to think so!"

It was, on feet, at the forester's cottage that Jack and his old friend
had met.

For ten days the youth had been living in solitude at Aulnettes. Each
day he had become more like the Jack of his childhood. The only persons
with whom he held any communication were the old forester and his wife,
who had served Charlotte faithfully for so long a time. She watched over
his health, purchased his provisions, and often cooked his dinner over
her own fire, while he sat and smoked at the door. These people never
asked a question, but when they saw his thin figure and heard his
constant cough, they shook their heads.

The interview between Dr. Rivals and Jack was at first embarrassing
to both, but after a little conversation, and as soon as the doctor
understood the truth, the awkwardness passed away.

"And now," said the old gentleman, gayly, "I hope we shall see you
often. You have been sent out to grass, apparently, like an old horse,
but you need more than that. You require great care, my boy, great
care,--particularly in the coming season. Etiolles is not Nice, you
understand. Our house is changed, for my poor wife died four years
ago,--died of absolute grief. My granddaughter does her best to take her
place; she keeps my books and makes up my prescriptions. How glad she
will be to see you! Now when will you come?"

Jack hesitated, as if he read his thoughts. The doctor added,--

"Cecile knows nothing of all your troubles; so come without any feeling
of restraint. It is too cold for you to be out late to-night; this fog
is not good for you; but I shall expect you at breakfast to-morrow. Now
in with you quickly; you must not be out after the dews begin to fall.
If you do not appear I shall come for you."

As Jack closed the door of the house, he had a singular impression. It
seemed to him that he had just come home from one of those long drives
with the doctor; that he should find his mother in the dining-room,
while the poet was above in the tower.

He passed the evening in the chimney-corner, before a fire made of dried
grape-vines, for life in the engine-room had made him very chilly. As of
old, when he returned fro