In his wild delirium, Louis talked incessantly of Celeste, and urged her with passionate vehemence to fly with him. At such times, the dark brow of Isadore would knit, and his eyes flash with smoldering fire beneath their lids. But if his own name was mentioned, his beautiful face would light up with such a radiant look of light and joy, that he seemed recompensed for all his weary watching and unceasing care.
At length, a naturally strong constitution, and the tender nursing of Isadore triumphed over disease, and Louis became convalescent. And then he began to realize all he owed to the boy who had been his guardian-angel during his illness.
"How can I ever repay you, Isadore?" he said, one day, as the youth hovered by his side, smoothing the tossed pillows, and arranging the bed-clothes with a skill few nurses could have surpassed.
"I wish for no return, signor. I am only too happy to have been of service to you," said the boy, dropping his eyes.
"Well, at least, you will find I am not ungrateful. Once I am well, you shall no longer remain a servant. I will place you in a fair way to make your fortune," said Louis.
"Signor, I beg you will not think of such a thing. I have no wish to leave you," said Isadore, in alarm.
"But with me you will only be an obscure servant, while it is in my power to place you in a situation to become honored and wealthy."
"I would rather remain with you."
"Strange boy! Why are you so anxious to stay with me?"
"Because——"