"So you still love her?"
Noel made an impatient movement
"I don't want anyone else!" he answered, curtly. "Besides, I'm too old to think of marrying now Let's talk about you, Louis. Are you happy? How is Jacqueline? Little Jennie Wren, we used to call her," he went on with a tenderly reminiscent smile. "What a pretty, lively little thing she was! I suppose she's more quiet now after five years with a solemn old crank like you. Why, Louis! What's the matter?"
Floriot had sunk into an armchair, his face white and drawn. In two strides his friend was beside him, bending over him in alarm.
"Don't—don't worry! It's nothing—nothing!" said Floriot unsteadily. "My child has been at death's door—for the last few days and I thought —I—had lost him. My nerves are just a little—out of joint. That's all!"
"My dear old chap!" cried Noel anxiously, "the boy is all right now?"
"Yes, Raymond's out of danger now." There was a long pause and then in altered tones Noel asked.
"And how old is this Monsieur Raymond?"
"Four."
"Quite a man. Is he your only child?" There was a curious strained quality in his voice. Floriot nodded.