door lay a heap of torn clothing which seemed to have been cut from the body. Beside the patient crouched a huge mastiff, with one paw placed upon the bed. The creature's eyes were fixed on his master's livid face; he acknowledged their entrance by a quick side glance, but never stirred from his post. The wounded man was a stranger to Rondelet; the latter saw only that he was young, possibly twenty-four years of age, and proceeded to examine the wound. It was in the left breast, and a short examination showed that it was fatal; a few hours at most were all of life left to him. Gently replacing the bandages, Rondelet smoothed the pillow of the dying man and applied a strong restorative to his lips. In a few minutes the patient's eyes opened. He looked in Rondelet's face, and then said faintly, "You are the other doctor? Best tell them it 's all up with me. I knew it from the first. Therese, is she here? Jean, you promised."
His breath failed him; the two physicians bent over him. In a moment he was easier.
"Is it true, Rondelet? Tell me, is there no hope?" It was Jean who spoke, in an undertone.
"Not the slightest; it will soon be over."
"It cannot hurt him to see that she-devil downstairs?"
