Carol went first, but she didn't stay anywhere near her five minutes, for I timed her by the parlor clock. It seemed as if she had scarcely had time to go up and walk into the room before she must have walked out again. She came down looking awfully solemn and scared, and whispered:
"He looks awful,—as if he'd been so sick! I was frightened. The trained nurse was there, and Monsieur, too. I didn't know what on earth to say, so I didn't stay but a minute."
Then the Imp went up, and I guess she was more successful, for she stayed two minutes over her time. We heard her say, "Hello, old sport!" as she entered the room, and we even heard a sound like Louis's laugh. Then there was a great chattering in French, and I knew that she and Monsieur were talking together. When she came down she said that Monsieur had been thanking her for what she did on the day of the accident, and that she had been trying to convince him she hadn't done anything, except to obey my directions. He wouldn't stand for that, however, and insisted that she had been the means of saving Louis's life. Nothing she could say would persuade him differently.
Then it came my turn, and I went up with my knees shaking, like the silly goose I am, for there was nothing on earth to be afraid of. But somehow it always did seem a solemn thing to me to see a person for the first time after he has been so near to death. But they shook worse when I got into the room and saw how really awful Louis looked. He is like a thin shadow of his former self, and so white and hollow-eyed. He's never been sick before, to any extent, so I never dreamed he could look like that.
I murmured something or other to Louis,—I can't remember what,—and then Monsieur began to thank me in very elaborate and formal English for what I had done on the day of the accident. I tried to answer that it wasn't anything, and I could easily see that he didn't think it was so much, compared to what the Imp had done. But Louis spoke up in the weakest voice, and declared:
"Sue is a trump! I know what she did, for I wasn't unconscious all of the time. Between them they patched me up beautifully."
But Monsieur wasn't much impressed. It's plain to be seen that the Imp is his favorite. I don't care a scrap, however, since Louis said what he did!
Well, I couldn't think of another thing to say, so I bade Louis good-bye and took my departure. But before I left the room I snatched a good long look at those pictures. I've been thinking of them constantly, ever since that first day, and longing to see them. It certainly was queer to see those two so tightly covered. There's something about the one of the boy that haunts me, though. I don't know why. Carol and I have talked it over and over, and we can't make it out. The trouble is that she practically hasn't seen it at all. That day of the accident she didn't come into the room, for she was telephoning the doctor. She didn't want to come in, anyway, because she knew she couldn't stand it. And to-day she only caught the smallest glimpse of it, because she was so upset when she came out of the room.
The nurse says that next time we go to see Louis we can probably stay a little longer, if he continues to improve.
March 15. We all went in again to-day. Monsieur was not there, to Carol's and my great relief, but the nurse was. I warned Carol beforehand to take a good look at the portrait this time, and she did. She says she feels as I do about it, as if she'd seen it, or some one like it, somewhere before. And yet she's sure she hasn't, really. I don't understand it.