"Unconscious, yes."
They were in the little hall now. Doctor Levillier narrowly scrutinized Julian. For a moment he thought Julian had been drinking, and he took him by the arm.
"No; it is fear," he murmured, releasing him, and walking into the tentroom.
Julian followed with a loud footstep, treading firmly. Each step said to
Death, "You are not here. You are not here."
He stood at a little distance near the door, while Levillier approached Valentine and bent over him. Rip woke up and curled his top lip in a terrier smile of welcome. The doctor stroked his head, then lifted Valentine's hand and held the wrist. He dropped it, and threw a glance on Julian. There was a scream of interrogation in Julian's fixed eyes. Doctor Levillier avoided it by dropping his own, and again turning his attention to the figure on the divan. He undid Valentine's shirt, bared the breast, and laid his hand on the heart, keeping it there for a long time.
"Fetch me a hand-glass," he said to Julian.
Mechanically, Julian went into the bedroom, and groped in the dark upon the dressing-table.
"Well, have you got it? Why don't you turn up the light?"
"I don't know," Julian answered, drily.
Doctor Levillier saw that anxiety was beginning to unnerve him. When the glass was found the doctor led Julian back to the tentroom and pushed him gently down in a chair.