Nature had played a prank with Jack.
When he came to his senses he found de Garros solicitously bending over him, his broken English running riot in his native French.
“What’s up?” questioned bewildered Jack.
De Garros shrugged his shoulders.
“I—er—phew! Zee—la—compron—eh—— I understand not! You make zee big cry, I in rush—excited much—phew!”
Jack sat up in bed.
“Are we still in Louvain?” he demanded.
“We, we, certainly!” de Garros hastened to assure him.
A big sigh of relief welled from Jack.
“De Garros,” he said, “I have had the most remarkable nightmare!”