He returned again almost immediately, followed by the gray-headed gentleman whom I had noticed on the journey to Paris—­and by Father Benwell.

The Jesuit’s vigilant eyes discovered us instantly, in our place near the fireside.  I thought I saw suspicion as well as surprise in his face.  But he recovered himself so rapidly that I could not feel sure.  He bowed to Stella.  She made no return; she looked as if she had not even seen him.

One of the doctors was an Englishman.  He said to Father Benwell:  “Whatever your business may be with Mr. Romayne, we advise you to enter on it without delay.  Shall we leave the room?”

“Certainly not,” Father Benwell answered.  “The more witnesses are present, the more relieved I shall feel.”  He turned to his traveling companion.  “Let Mr. Romayne’s lawyer,” he resumed, “state what our business is.”

The gray-headed gentleman stepped forward.

“Are you able to attend to me, sir?” he asked.

Romayne, reclining in his chair, apparently lost to all interest in what was going on, heard and answered.  The weak tones of his voice failed to reach my ear at the other end of the room.  The lawyer, seeming to be satisfied so far, put a formal question to the doctors next.  He inquired if Mr. Romayne was in full possession of his faculties.

Both the physicians answered without hesitation in the affirmative.  Father Benwell added his attestation.  “Throughout Mr. Romayne’s illness,” he said firmly, “his mind has been as clear as mine is.”

While this was going on, the child had slipped off his mother’s lap, with the natural restlessness of his age.  He walked to the fireplace and stopped—­fascinated by the bright red glow of the embers of burning wood.  In one corner of the low fender lay a loose little bundle of sticks, left there in case the fire might need relighting.  The boy, noticing the bundle, took out one of the sticks and threw it experimentally into the grate.  The flash of flame, as the stick caught fire, delighted him.  He went on burning stick after stick.  The new game kept him quiet:  his mother was content to be on the watch, to see that no harm was done.

In the meantime, the lawyer briefly stated his case.

“You remember, Mr. Romayne, that your will was placed, for safe keeping, in our office,” he began.  “Father Benwell called upon us, and presented an order, signed by yourself, authorizing him to convey the will from London to Paris.  The object was to obtain your signature to a codicil, which had been considered a necessary addition to secure the validity of the will.—­Are you favoring me with your attention, sir?”

Romayne answered by a slight bending of his head.  His eyes were fixed on the boy—­still absorbed in throwing his sticks, one by one, into the fire.