"That is true; but I know Roger, and I know that he has forgotten nothing."
"Of course, forgetfulness would not be easy to him over there, in that long, solitary exile; but once he has returned here to us, near his family, his wounds will have a chance to heal; and, in any case," added Madame Dalize, taking her husband's hand, "he will have at hand two doctors who are profoundly devoted."
"Yes, my dear wife, you are right; and if he can be cured, we will know how to cure him."
Madame Dalize took the telegram from her husband's hands, and read this:
"Monsieur Dalize, Château de Sainte-Gemme, at Sens:
Friend,—I am on my way home. Learn at Paris that you are at Sainte-Gemme. May I come there at once?"
"Roger."
"And you answered him?"
"I answered, 'We are awaiting you with the utmost impatience. Take the first train.'"
"Will that first train be the eleven-o'clock train?"
"No; I think that Roger will not be able to take the express. The man with the telegram will not have reached Sens soon enough, even if he hurried, as he promised he would. Then, the time taken to send the despatch, to receive it in Paris, and to take it to Roger's address would make it more than eleven. So our friend will have to take the next train; and you cannot count upon his being here before five o'clock."
"Oh!" cried Miss Miette, in a disappointed tone.