“Well!” she cried.

“A great deal of hope.”

“Oh! what happiness, Monsieur!” She pressed his hand.

“Sit down there,” she said.

He sat down on a rock contiguous to hers, and replied to her eager questions.  He repeated, in detail, his conversation with the doctor, and explained at length the properties of belladonna.  She listened at first with interest, but little by little, with her head wrapped in her veil and resting on the boughs interlaced behind her, she seemed to be uncomfortably resting from fatigue.

“You are likely to fall asleep there,” he said, laughing.

“Perhaps!” she murmured—­smiled, and went to sleep.

Her sleep resembled death, it was so profound, and so calm was the beating of her heart, so light her breathing.

Camors knelt down again by the fire, to listen breathlessly and to gaze upon her.  From time to time he seemed to meditate, and the solitude was disturbed only by the rustling of the leaves.  His eyes followed the flickering of the flame, sometimes resting on the white cheek, sometimes on the grove, sometimes on the arches of the high trees, as if he wished to fix in his memory all the details of this sweet scene.  Then his gaze rested again on the young woman, clothed in her beauty, grace, and confiding repose.

What heavenly thoughts descended at that moment on this sombre soul—­what hesitation, what doubt assailed it!  What images of peace, truth, virtue, and happiness passed into that brain full of storm, and chased away the phantoms of the sophistries he cherished!  He himself knew, but never told.

The brisk crackling of the wood awakened her.  She opened her eyes in surprise, and as soon as she saw the young man kneeling before her, addressed him: 

“How are they now, Monsieur?”

He did not know how to tell her that for the last hour he had had but one thought, and that was of her.  Durocher appeared suddenly before them.

“They are saved, Madame,” said the old man, brusquely; “come quickly, embrace them, and return home, or we shall have to treat you to-morrow.  You are very imprudent to have remained in this damp wood, and it was absurd of Monsieur to let you do so.”

She took the arm of the old doctor, smiling, and reentered the hut.  The two children, now roused from the dangerous torpor, but who seemed still terrified by the threatened death, raised their little round heads.  She made them a sign to keep quiet, and leaned over their pillow smiling upon them, and imprinted two kisses on their golden curls.

“To-morrow, my angels,” she said.  But the mother, half laughing, half crying, followed Madame de Tecle step by step, speaking to her, and kissing her garments.

“Let her alone,” cried the old doctor, querulously.  “Go home, Madame.  Monsieur de Camors, take her home.”

She was going out, when the man, who had not before spoken, and who was sitting in the corner of his but as if stupefied, rose suddenly, seized the arm of Madame de Tecle, who, slightly terrified, turned round, for the gesture of the man was so violent as to seem menacing; his eyes, hard and dry, were fixed upon her, and he continued to press her arm with a contracted hand.