Genevieve and the old Mademoiselle had just
come in. She clung to them, clenching her hands and hiding her face.
She pointed to the Count, who, with his brows contracted and his lips
sternly set, was talking volubly. All three trembled. He ground out
the name of the Duke of Morlay-La-Branche in a kind of roar. Mlle.
Frahender, more composed than the girls, took the potion left by the
doctor to calm the fever when it should become too raging. Esperance
hardened herself against the weakness which had made her leave the
bedside, and while Genevieve held the bandaged head she poured the
liquid between the sick man's lips. At the same time she spoke to him
very gently.
The well-known, much-loved voice had more effect than the potion. The
wounded man grew gradually calmer, and still unconscious, slept
quietly once more. Then Esperance sank back in an easy chair, begging
Mlle. Frahender to see that no one should make any noise. When the
doctor returned at nine, he found the patient had been sleeping for an
hour. He was well satisfied, and waited a half-hour more before
disturbing him to dress the wound. He could say nothing definitely as
yet, except that the patient had lost no ground.
He took his leave until next day, and when Francois asked him to
insist upon his daughter's rest, he refused, saying, "I shall do
nothing of the kind. She risks nothing except a slight fatigue, and
she is performing a good work.
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