Presently, the head of the sick man turned slightly on its pillow, the body contracted a little and Cary opened his eyes. There was no bewilderment in the look. He awoke knowing where he was—not in a strange place, but among those whom he loved and who lovingly cared for him. Pauline was the first to approach him. She asked him a question, and he answered in her own language, as naturally as if the French had been his mother tongue. Batoche was delighted to observe this, regarding it as a satisfactory normal symptom. Cary accepted a draught from the hands of his beautiful nurse, then lay back on his pillow as if quite refreshed. At that propitious moment, his eyes encountered those of Batoche, who stood up a little towards the foot of the bed. A calm smile played upon his lips, intelligence beamed softly in his look, and, withdrawing his long emaciated hand from under the sheet, he extended it to his old friend.
"Batoche!" he whispered.
The latter took the proffered hand reverently and pressed it to his lips.
"You know me, Captain?"
"Perfectly."
"I have longed to see you."
"And I to see you."
"But it was impossible to come sooner."
"I know it and you had to use that uniform."
As Cary said this he pointed to Batoche's disguise with a subdued laugh. He immediately added: