“It is probably no more than a sick man’s fancy,” said Gabrielle.
“It may be so; yet it is very strong upon him, and he talks wildly and almost at random.”
“I fear his wound is more serious than you deemed, Gerard,” declared Gabrielle.
“It is the more reason for what I have urged—that he be watched closely and never left. His life itself may hang upon it.”
“I will see that it is done,” agreed Gabrielle readily.
“That what is done?” It was de Proballe who asked the question, coming out of the house in time to catch the last words.
“My poor Denys is very ill, it seems, uncle, and Gerard has just been saying that he should be watched ceaselessly.”
“Poor fellow,” he replied in a compassionate tone; and then with an upcast glance at Gerard he asked: “And why do you think he should be watched so closely?”
“I have had some skill in sword-wounds, monsieur, and Mademoiselle Lucette here says he has been talking wildly. When delirium follows such a wound as his there is every need for care.”
It was an adroit answer, for it satisfied de Proballe and also bore out what he had said before. But Lucette’s eyes were very keen, and knowing all she did, she was watching closely enough to catch de Proballe’s glance of meaning as he answered—