"What is this make-believe feebleness?
That you are pale, poltroon, I do not wonder! But why these tottering limbs?
Why this assumption of weakness?
Do you look to trick me by these signs ?" "Have you taken leave of your senses ?" exclaimed the other, a note of responsive anger sounding in his voice.

"Have you gone mad, Stanislas ?" "Abandon this pretence," was the contemptuous answer.

"Two days ago at Lavedan, my friend, they informed me how complete was your recovery; from what they told us, it was easy to guess why you tarried there and left us without news of you.

That was my reason, as you may have surmised, for writing to you.

My sister has mourned you for dead--was mourning you for dead whilst you sat at the feet of your Roxalanne and made love to her among the roses of Lavedan." "Lavedan ?" echoed the other slowly.