Darpent now brought in a priest, fresh from giving the last Sacrements to the two mortally-wounded men.  The wife looked at him in terror, but both he and Clement gently assured her that he was not come for that purpose to M. la Comte, but to set his mind at rest by giving him absolution before the dressing of the wound.  Of course it was a precaution lest he should sink under the operation; and as we led her from the bedside, Clement bade me not let her return as yet.

But that little fragile creature was more entirely the soul of Love than any other being I have known.  She did, indeed, when we had her in Madame Verdon’s little oratory hard by, kneel before the crucifix and pray with me, but her ear caught, before mine, the departing steps of the priest, and the entering ones of the surgeon.  She rose up, simply did not listen to my persuasions, but walked in with quiet dignity.  Madame Darpent was there, and would have entreated her to retire, but she said:  ‘This is a wife’s place.’  And as she took his hands she met a look in his eyes which I verily believe more than compensated to her for all the years of weary pining in neglect.  The doctor would have ordered her off, but she only said:  ’I shall not cry, I shall no faint.’  And they let her keep his hand, though Clement had to hold him.  I waited, setting our hostess free to attend to one of her dying charges, from whom she could ill be spared.

And Cecile kept her word, though it was a terrible time, for there was no endurance in poor Armand’s shallow nature, and his cries and struggles were piteous.  He could dare, but not suffer, and had not both she and Clement been resolute and tranquil, the doctor owned that he could not have succeeded.

‘But Madame la Comtesse is a true heroin,’ he said, when our patient was laid down finally, tranquil and exhausted, to be watched over through the night.

The time that followed was altogether the happiest of all my poor sister-in-law’s married life.  Her husband could hardly bear to lose sight of her for a moment, or to take anything from any hand save hers.  If Madame Darpent had not absolutely taken the command of both she would never have had any rest, for she never seemed sensible of fatigue; indeed, to sit with his hand in hers really refreshed her more than sleep.  When she looked forward to his recovery, her only regret was at her own wickedness in the joy that would spring up when she thought of her poor cripple being wholly dependent on her, and never wanting to leave her again.  I had been obliged to leave her after the first night, but I spent much of every day in trying to help her, and she was always in a tearful state of blissful hope, as she would whisper to me his promises for the future and his affectionate words—­the fretful ones, of which she had her full share, were all forgotten, except by Clement Darpent, who shrugged his shoulders at them, and thought when he had a wife—–­