Presently the Jesuit caught sight of the dim, half-recognizable face
below.
"The Chevalier improves?" he asked.
"His mind has just cleared itself of the fever's fog, thank God!" cried
Victor, heartily.
"He will live, then," replied Brother Jacques, sadly; and continued his
pacing. After a few moments Victor went below again, and the priest
mused aloud: "Yes, he will live; misfortune and misery are long-lived."
All about him rolled the smooth waters, touched faintly with the first
pallor of dawn.
On the sixteenth of April the Chevalier was declared strong enough to
be carried up to the deck, where he was laid on a cot, his head propped
with pillows in a manner such as to prevent the rise and fall of the
ship from disturbing him. O the warmth and glory of that spring
sunshine! It flooded his weak, emaciated frame with a soothing heat, a
sense of gladness, peace, calm. As the beams draw water from the
rivers to the heavens, so they drew forth the fever-poison from his
veins and cast it to the cleansing winds. He was aware of no desire
save that of lying there in the sun; of watching the clouds part, join,
and dissolve, only to form again, when the port rose; of measuring the
bright horizon when the port sank.
Pages:
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246