His fever was gone, his brain was calm, his strength in good measure had returned.

There had been dreams in his sleep, too; he had seen Clotilde standing at the foot of his bed.

He lay now, for a moment, lost in retrospection.
"There can be no doubt about it," said he, as he rose up, looking back mentally at something in the past.
The sound of carriage-wheels attracted his attention by ceasing before his street door.

A moment later the voice of Agricola was heard in the shop greeting Raoul.

As the old man lifted the head of his staff to tap on the inner door, Frowenfeld opened it.
"Fusilier to the rescue!" said the great Louisianian, with a grasp of the apothecary's hand and a gaze of brooding admiration.
Joseph gave him a chair, but with magnificent humility he insisted on not taking it until "Professor Frowenfeld" had himself sat down.
The apothecary was very solemn.