Some hours of unconsciousness followed, but with decreasing restlessness. The doctor gave hope. Only he again warned them that the next waking would be the critical one. “Whatever you do,” he said, “keep him, if you can, from reverting to the past as long as possible.”
Yet it so happened that the next time Tournier aroused, Villemet was out of the room, and Cosin had taken his place. The afternoon sun was lighting up his face with a slanting ray as he sat by the bedside and looked toward the window; and when he turned his eyes again on his friend, he could hardly refrain from starting. Tournier was gazing on him with a look of intense earnestness.
“Where am I?”
“You are on a visit to me, and have been very ill, and I want you to go to sleep again, and not think about anything.”
“But do you know,” said Tournier, making a feeble effort to put out his hand, which his
friend gently took, “that when I first woke up, such horrid thoughts came into my mind! but I caught sight of your face, and they went away.”
“That’s right. Now take this nourishment, and try to sleep again. We shall have plenty of time to talk when you are stronger, and I shall be always close by.”
It would be wearisome to describe at any length the various stages of recovery: for recover he did, and became as strong and vigorous as ever. No little share had Alice Cosin in bringing this about, though in that unobtrusive, and often unknown, way in which dear, kind women work, for she was one of those who had the mark of the true lady in her household duties. She knew everything, and saw to everything, and did anything that would make the household comfortable.
And when Tournier got strong enough to think and converse without restraint, he told Cosin, with great emotion, the terrible nature of that struggle he had had beside the water of the
mere before they found him, and what it was God had made use of to save him.