CHAPTER XXV.
DEAD TO THE WORLD.
In an hospital at Lucerne a peasant had been lying ill for many weeks of a brain fever, which left him so absolutely helpless that it was impossible to turn him out into the streets on his recovery from the fever, as he had no home or friends to go to.

When his mind seemed clear enough to give some account of himself, he was incoherent and bewildered in the few statements he made.

He did not answer to his own name, Jean Merle; and he appeared incapable of understanding even a simple question.

That his brain had been, perhaps, permanently affected by the fever was highly probable.
When at length the authorities of the hospital were obliged to discharge him, a purse was made up for him, containing enough money to keep him in his own station for the next three months.
By this time Jean Merle was no longer confused and unintelligible when he opened his lips, but he very rarely uttered a word beyond what was absolutely necessary.

He appeared to the physicians attending him to be bent on recollecting something that had occurred in the past before his brain gave way.