"And then the fever. The next morning you were delirious. For days you knew nothing, understood nothing, yet you talked, talked, always."
Colonel Darcy shifted uneasily.
"One generally does that," he said. "The raving of delirium."
"You said things that meant nothing usually. But one name you were always repeating, a strange English name of a woman."
"And it was?" he murmured, stroking her hair.
"Belle. La Belle, I think you meant. And the other name, I do not remember. It sounded harsh, and I did not like it."
He laughed nervously.
"There is nothing for you to be jealous about, cara mia," he said. "It was the name of a playmate of my childhood. I had not heard or thought of it for years. But that is the way in fever. The forgotten things, the things of no importance come uppermost in the mind."
"And then," she went on, "came that happy day when you knew us, and then you grew stronger and better, and I realised that you would be going away from us for ever."
"Did you think?" he asked softly, "that I could ever have forgotten my nurse?"