Je me contente de ce qui peut s'ecrire, et je reve tout ce qui peut se
rever.--DE SEVIGNE.

["I content myself with writing what I am able, and I dream all I
possibly can dream."]


About a week after his wound, and the second morning of his return to
sense and consciousness, when Clarence opened his eyes, they fell upon
a female form seated watchfully and anxiously by his bedside. He
raised himself in mute surprise, and the figure, startled by the
motion, rose, drew the curtain, and vanished. With great difficulty
he rang his bell. His valet, Harrison, on whose mind, though it was
of no very exalted order, the kindness and suavity of his master had
made a great impression, instantly appeared.

"Who was that lady?" asked Linden. "How came she here?"

Harrison smiled: "Oh, sir, pray please to lie down, and make yourself
easy: the lady knows you very well and would come here; she insists
upon staying in the house, so we made up a bed in the drawing-room and
she has watched by you night and day. She speaks very little English
to be sure, but your honour knows, begging your pardon, how well I
speak French."

"French?" said Clarence, faintly,--"French? In Heaven's name, who is
she?"

"A Madame--Madame--La Melonveal, or some such name, sir," said the
valet.