He was silent for some time. Then he broke out,
'I tell you I will go. I do not choose to live on charity. I will not. I demand my clothes.'
'I tell you it is of no use. When you are well enough to go out you shall go out, but not now.'
'Where am I? Who are you?'
He looked at Robert with a keen, furtive glance, in which were mingled bewilderment and suspicion.
'I am your best friend at present.'
He started up—fiercely and yet feebly, for a thought of terror had crossed him.
'You do not mean I am in a madhouse?'
Robert made no reply. He left him to suppose what he pleased. Andrew took it for granted that he was in a private asylum, sank back in his chair, and from that moment was quiet as a lamb. But it was easy to see that he was constantly contriving how to escape. This mental occupation, however, was excellent for his recovery; and Robert dropped no hint of his suspicion. Nor were many precautions necessary in consequence; for he never left the house without having De Fleuri there, who was a man of determination, nerve, and, now that he ate and drank, of considerable strength.
As he grew better, the stimulants given him in the form of medicine at length ceased. In their place Robert substituted other restoratives, which prevented him from missing the stimulants so much, and at length got his system into a tolerably healthy condition, though at his age, and after so long indulgence, it could hardly be expected ever to recover its tone.