What was it?  ‘Do not ask, do not ask!’ Nature seemed to say in my heart.  Thoughts came into my mind in such a dizzy crowd, that the multitude of them seemed to take away my senses.  I put up my hands to my ears, in which they seemed to be buzzing and rustling like bees, to stop the sound.  When I did so, Lecamus turned and looked at me—­grave and wondering.  This recalled me to a sense of my weakness.  But how I got home I can scarcely say.  My mother and wife met me with anxiety.  They were greatly disturbed about the hospital of St. Jean, in respect to which it had been recently decided that certain changes should be made.  The great ward of the hospital, which was the chief establishment for the patients—­a thing which some had complained of as an annoyance disturbing their rest.  So many, indeed, had been the complaints received, that we had come to the conclusion either that the opening should be built up, or the office suspended.  Against this decision, it is needless to say, the Sisters of St. Jean were moving heaven and earth.  Equally unnecessary for me to add, that having so decided in my public capacity, as at once the representative of popular opinion and its guide, the covert reproaches which were breathed in my presence, and even the personal appeals made to me, had failed of any result.  I respect the Sisters of St. Jean.  They are good women and excellent nurses, and the commune owes them much.  Still, justice must be impartial; and so long as I retain my position at the head of the community, it is my duty to see that all have their due.  My opinions as a private individual, were I allowed to return to that humble position, are entirely a different matter; but this is a thing which ladies, however excellent, are slow to allow or to understand.

I will not pretend that this was to me a night of rest.  In the darkness, when all is still, any anxiety which may afflict the soul is apt to gain complete possession and mastery, as all who have had true experience of life will understand.  The night was very dark and very still, the clocks striking out the hours which went so slowly, and not another sound audible.  The streets of Semur are always quiet, but they were more still than usual that night.  Now and then, in a pause of my thoughts, I could hear the soft breathing of my Agnes in the adjoining room, which gave me a little comfort.  But this was only by intervals, when I was able to escape from the grasp of the recollections that held me fast.  Again I seemed to see under my closed eyelids the faint line of the high road which led from the Porte St. Lambert, the broken ground with its ragged bushes on either side, and no one—­no one there—­not a soul, not a shadow:  yet a multitude!  When I allowed myself to think of this, my heart leaped into my throat again, my blood ran in my veins like a river in flood.  I need not say that I resisted this transport of the nerves with all my might.  As the night grew slowly into morning my power of