"He is past hurting, poor fellow. If he wants to see her—it is her name he just spoke?"
"Yes."
"It can do no harm; send the woman up."
"Mind you stay there, both of you; do you hear? She is not to be trusted alone with him," said the man who had been called Jean, as he left the room.
"Therese," groaned the sufferer.
She was beside him as he spoke her name,—a splendid figure, thrilling with life and passionate love or anger, beautiful as a young tigress.
She fell upon her knees at the bedside; and lifting his helpless hand in both of hers, bathed it with tears and kisses. Rondelet would have left them alone together, but remembering the warning, turned his face to the wall; the younger surgeon followed his example. But human sympathy was too strong for them; a minute had not passed before both men turned and gazed upon those two figures, one so full of life, the other so near to death. The woman was speaking rapidly in a low voice, and the man was lying with closed eyes. He turned his face from hers and sighed wearily.
"What does it matter to me now, Therese? One thing you must hear and understand,—I was to blame. Do you hear? It is my last word,—I was to blame. The men will all tell you so; I
