A small ormolu clock ticked rapidly upon the mantel-piece, the swing of the gilded pendulum being visible beneath.

Bressant watched it with idle interest.

He felt so weak, in mind and body, that the clock seemed company just fitted for his comprehension.
The door opened by-and-by, and Cornelia's smiling face peeped in, looking the sweeter for an expression of tender anxiety.

Seeing that he was awake, her eyes took on an extra sparkle, and she advanced a step into the room, still clinging with one hand to the door-knob, however, as if afraid to lose its support.
"You feel a little better, don't you?
Is that mattress comfortable?
I'm going to bring you your breakfast in a few minutes." Bressant only grew red and bit his mustache for answer.

He would gladly have covered himself up out of sight, but he could not move hand or foot.
Cornelia had in her mind a little speech she meant to deliver to Bressant, on the subject of the previous night's event, but, at the critical moment, she felt her courage forsaking her.