The nurse replied in an agreeable Anglo-Saxon French:
"You are in a French hospital in Algiers, sir, and doing well."
Tremont came up to him.
"I remember you," Sabron said. "You have been near me a dozen times lately."
"You must not talk, mon vieux."
"But I feel as though I must talk a great deal. Didn't you come for me into the desert?"
Tremont, healthy, vigorous, tanned, gay and cheerful, seemed good-looking to poor Sabron, who gazed up at him with touching gratitude.
"I think I remember everything. I think I shall never forget it," he said, and lifted his hand feebly. Robert de Tremont took it. "Haven't we traveled far together, Tremont?"
"Yes," nodded the other, affected, "but you must sleep now. We will talk about it over our cigars and liquors soon."
Sabron smiled faintly. His clear mind was regaining its balance, and thoughts began to sweep over it cruelly fast. He looked at his rescuer, and to him the other's radiance meant simply that he was engaged to Miss Redmond. Of course that was natural. Sabron tried to accept it and to be glad for the happiness of the man who had rescued him. But as he thought this, he wondered why he had been rescued and shut his eyes so that Tremont might not see his weakness. He said hesitatingly: