"Am I not dead, then ?" And I sought to struggle up into a sitting posture, but that gentle hand upon my forehead restrained and robbed me of all will that was not hers.
"Hush, Monsieur!" she said softly.

"Lie still.

By a miracle and the faithfulness of Michelot you live.

Be thankful, be content, and sleep." "But my wounds, Mademoiselle ?" I inquired feebly.
"They are healed." "Healed ?" quoth I, and in my amazement my voice sounded louder than it had yet done since my awakening.

"Healed! Three such wounds as I took last night, to say naught of a broken head, healed ?" "'T was not last night, Monsieur." "Not last night?
Was it not last night that I went to Reaux ?" "It is nearly a month since that took place," she answered with a smile.
"For nearly a month have you lain unconscious upon that bed, with the angel of Death at your pillow.