Revived by that draught, he succeeded, with his wife's aid, in sitting up in bed, and with his own hand applied bandages to the wound, which stopped the flow of blood.
Then, handing Bathilde a bundle which he had thus far kept out of sight, he said:
"Put this in the fireplace, madame, and set fire to it at once."
"What, monsieur! this garment?"
"Be good enough to obey me, madame; everything that I ask you to do at this moment is of more importance than you suppose."
The young woman did what the count ordered. The olive-green cloak was soon in a blaze. As he watched it burn, Léodgard seemed to breathe more freely, and when it was entirely consumed he muttered:
"Good! now there is nothing else to betray me except his sword. That cannot be burned; but it may at least be hidden from all eyes."
And having carefully concealed the short sword under his coverlid, Léodgard held out his hand to Bathilde, who took it and pressed it to her heart, hardly able to credit that mark of affection on her husband's part.
"I have caused you much unhappiness, Bathilde," said Léodgard, pausing frequently between his words; "but heaven has punished me! I shall cause you no more after this!"
"Mon Dieu! monsieur le comte, what do you mean? Your wound is not dangerous, I hope?"