"At once," she said, rising.
V
The young man's anxiety about his mother kept him long awake, and his sleep was troubled, as at times later, by a dream of Carteaux facing him with a smile, and by that strange sense of physical impotence which sometimes haunts the dreamer who feels the need for action and cannot stir.
When at six in the morning De Courval went down-stairs, he met Mrs. Swanwick. She turned, and when in the hall said: "I have been with thy mother all night, and now Margaret is with her, but thou wilt do no harm to enter. She does not seem to me very ill, but we must have a doctor, and one who has her language. When after a little sleep she wakens, she wanders, and then is clear again." Seeing his look of anxiety, she added, "Be sure that we shall care for her."
He said no word of the pain he felt and scarce more than a word of his gratitude, but, going up-stairs again, knocked softly at a chamber door.
"Come in," he heard, and entered. A low voice whispered, "She is just awake," and the slight, gray figure of the girl went by him, the door gently closing behind her. In the dim light he sat down by his mother's bed, and taking a hot hand in his, heard her murmur: "Mon fils—my son. Angels—angels! I was a stranger, and they took me in; naked and they clothed me, yes, yes, with kindness. What name did you say? Carteaux. Is he dead—Carteaux?"
The young man had a thrill of horror. "Mother," he said, "it is I, René."
"Ah," she exclaimed, starting up, "I was dreaming. These good people were with me all night. You must thank them and see that they are well paid. Do not forget—well paid—and a tisane. If I had but a tisane de guimauve!"