"No, Bathilde, no; be not alarmed. But now, when we are alone, I am anxious to let you know that I repent of my wrongdoing—that I implore your forgiveness."
"O Léodgard! dear Léodgard! If it is true that you have come back at last to stay with us always—if my presence is no longer offensive to you—am I not the happiest of women?—It is not for me to forgive you, but I offer you all my love as in the old days!"
"Thanks, Bathilde, thanks! Our daughter is an angel. I love her—ah! yes, I love her with all my heart! Dear child!—You will send her to me to-morrow, as soon as she wakes, will you not?"
"As soon as you wish, my dear."
"Oh! let her sleep; do not disturb her rest.—And now, listen to me, Bathilde; I must see the Sire de Jarnonville at the earliest possible moment. Write him a line—ask him to come here, without giving him any details. Send to him at daybreak. You understand? beg him to come at once."
"You shall be obeyed, my dear; and the Sire de Jarnonville is such a kind friend to us, that I doubt not that he will hasten to gratify your wish."
"That is well. As soon as Jarnonville arrives, let him be sent to me. And now, Bathilde, return to your rest."
"Do you expect me to leave you, my dear, when you are wounded? Oh! I entreat you, let me sit up with you, let me pass the night by your side.—And then, too, it seems to me that we should send for the doctor."
"I tell you again, madame, that you would aggravate my condition by doing so. And you do not wish to do that, I think?"
"What I would like, monsieur le comte, would be to have your wound examined. You seem to be in pain."