The surgeon left the cabin; his previsions were soon realised, M. de Barmont gradually fell into a calm and peaceful sleep.
The two sailors stood motionless by his bedside; no nurse could have watched a patient with greater care and more delicate attention than did these two men, whose exterior seemed so hard, but whose hearts were really so kind.
The whole night passed away thus; the surgeon had come in several times, but after a few minutes' examination he withdrew with an air of satisfaction, and laying a finger on his lips.
About morning, at the first sunbeam that entered the cabin, the Count made a slight movement, opened his eyes, and slightly turned his head.
"My good Michael, give me some drink," he said, in a feeble voice.
The sailor handed him a glass.
"I feel crushed," he muttered; "have I been ill?"
"Yes, a little," the sailor replied; "but now it is all over, thank heaven! You need only have patience."
"I feel the motion of the frigate—are we under weigh?"
"Yes, Commandant."