So it was arranged, and Madame Lavaux established herself with her knitting in the dim, silent room, whilst Graham departed on his errand, satisfied that his patient was in safe hands.  Not ten minutes had elapsed, however, when a knock came at the door of the sick-room, and a summons—­could Madame come at once?  Madame cast a look at her charge; he was perfectly still and quiet, sleeping profoundly apparently; there could be no harm in leaving him for a moment.  She went, intending to return immediately; but, alas! for human intentions, downstairs she found a commotion that drove M. Linders, M. le Docteur, and everything else out of her head for the time being.  Madame la Comtesse au premier had lost her diamond ring—­her ring, worth six thousand francs, an heirloom, an inestimable treasure; lost it? it had been stolen—­she knew it, felt convinced of it; she had left it for five minutes on her dressing-table whilst she went to speak to some dressmaker or milliner, and on her return it had vanished.  Unpardonable carelessness on her part, she admitted, but that did not alter the fact; it had been stolen, and must be found; house, servants, visitors, luggage, all must be searched and ransacked.  Where were the gendarmes? let all these people be taken into custody at once, pointing to the group of startled, wondering, servants,—­let everyone be taken into custody.  Madame Lavaux had enough to do and to think of for the next hour, we may be sure, and though, at the end of that time, Madame la Comtesse found the ring safe in the corner of her pocket, whither it had slipped off her finger, and the disturbance was at an end, not so were the consequences of that disturbance.

For in the meantime a very different scene was being acted out upstairs.

CHAPTER III.

Madam’s Vigil.

Five minutes after Madame Lavaux had left the room, Madelon, just awakened from her sound sleep, came creeping gently in.  It was almost dark by this time, for it was late in the afternoon, and the Venetian shutters were still closed that had kept out the heat and glare all day; but now she threw them back, and let in the tepid evening breeze, and the faded light of the dying day; carriages and carts were rattling in the street below, shrill voices came from the opposite houses where lights were appearing here and there; high up in the serene grey-blue sky a few reddened clouds had caught the last gleams of the setting sun.

“Madelon,” said M. Linders, roused by the noise she had made in opening the shutters.

A sudden throb of joy came over her as she heard his voice again, and she went swiftly and stood by his bedside.

“Are you better, papa?” she said, putting her two little cool hands into one of his, hot with fever.

“We are alone, are we not?” he answered, looking feebly around.  “Come and sit up here by me.  Can you jump up?  That is right,” as she climbed up and nestled close to him, her feet tucked under the sheet; “here, petite, let me put my arm round you.”