"What brought this on?" asked Nicot, when the Chevalier was stretched
on his mattress.
The vicomte glanced significantly at Victor.
"He . . . The Chevalier has just passed through an extraordinary
mental strain," Victor stammered.
"Of what nature?" asked Nicot.
"Never mind what nature, Lieutenant," interrupted the vicomte. "It is
enough that he has brain fever. The question is, can you bring him
around?"
Nicot eyed his patient critically. "It is splendid flesh, but he has
been on a long debauch. I'll fetch my case and bleed him a bit."
"Poor lad!" said Victor. "God knows, he has been through enough
already. What if he should die?"
"Would he not prefer it so?" the vicomte asked. "Were I in his place I
should consider death a blessing in disguise. But do not worry; he
will pull out of it, if only for a day, in order to run his sword
through that fool of a D'Herouville. The Chevalier always keeps his
engagements. I will leave you now. I will call in the morning."
For two weeks the Chevalier's mind was without active thought or sense
of time. It was as if two weeks had been plucked from his allotment
without his knowledge or consent.
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