"Fifteen years, Monsieur. Shall I read to you?"
"No. You came from France?" with a sick man's persistence.
"Yes, Monsieur. Is there something besides reading I can do?"
"Do I look ill?" querulously.
"You are burning with fever." She drew the cool palm of her hand across his heated forehead.
"Jehan!" called the marquis. The touch of that hand had caused him an indescribable sensation.
"I am here, Monsieur," replied Jehan.
Sister Benie leaned back out of the sunlight.
"A pitcher of water; I am thirsty."
Jehan took the pitcher fumblingly. He was yellow with fear and wonder.