Trembling with joy and apprehension, her eyes streaming with tears, La Louve, kneeling beside Martial, watched his slightest movements, and intently gazed on his features. The unfortunate youth seemed gradually to recover as his lungs inhaled a freer and more healthful atmosphere. After a few convulsive shudderings he raised his languid head, heaved a deep sigh, and, opening his eyes, looked eagerly around him.
"Martial! 'Tis I!—your Louve! How are you now?"
"Better!" replied he, in a feeble voice.
"Thank God! Will you have a little water or some vinegar?"
"No, no," replied Martial, speaking more naturally; "air, air! Oh, I want only air!"
At the risk of gashing the backs of her hands, La Louve drove them through the four panes of a window she could not have opened without first removing a large and heavy table.
"Now I breathe! I breathe freely! And my head seems quite relieved!" said Martial, entirely recovering his senses and voice.
Then, as if recalling for the first time the service his mistress had rendered him, he exclaimed, with a burst of ineffable gratitude:
"But for you, my brave Louve, I should soon have been dead!"
"Oh, never mind thinking of that! But tell me, how do you find yourself now?"