CHAPTER XIX

THE VIGIL

"Anche la Speme[17] Ultima Dea, fugge i sepolchri e involve Tutte cose l'Oblio nella sua notte."

Foscolo.--_Dei Sepolcri._ 16.

"Nus rein avoir grant joie S'il n'en sueffre paine." (Pierre de Corbie.)

"The ghost in man, the ghost that once was man, But cannot wholly free itself from man, Are calling to each other thro' a dawn Stranger than earth has ever seen--the veil Is rending, and the voices of the day Are heard across the voices of the dark."

Tennyson.

Delapine had been laid in the spare bedroom which had been partly altered into a sitting room and made as comfortable as possible. Madame Villebois had placed a small table just behind the head of the bed, and covered it with a white cloth. On it she devoutly placed a crucifix, together with a large wax candle on each side, which she gave directions should be kept burning all night. Two more candles were placed on small round tables at the foot of the bed.

"Now, my dear," said the good lady to her spouse, "I have turned the room into a little 'chapelle ardente.'"

Doctor Villebois nodded approval--but his mind turned to the practical rather than the spiritual needs of the professor.

"Let us put a stove in the room," he added, "so that it may be kept at a constant temperature of summer heat."

Renée insisted on sleeping in the room with a Sister of Mercy who had been called in to assist at the vigil during the night, while during the day Renée and Céleste agreed to take turns in watching.

"Is this the room where the tragedy took place?" asked Paul as the two doctors were shown into the room by Villebois.

"No, that was downstairs. This room has been specially prepared for the professor."

Paul went up to Delapine, who was lying white as marble and apparently lifeless.

"Yes, there is the syringe mark right enough."

Seizing the arm, he inserted a sterilised probe and then forcibly squeezed the skin. A few drops of yellowish fluid came out. He collected it on a watch glass and warmed it over a spirit flame. A tiny white deposit remained.

"Let me put this under your microscope," he said to Dr. Villebois. It was brought, and he carefully examined the crystals.

"I thought so. These are the crystals of the Japanese alkaloid right enough. There can be no doubt about what his condition is due to."

"What do you think about him?" asked Roux.

"He is either dead or will die very shortly."

Renée looked up with her heart thumping violently, apparently unable to grasp the full significance of the calamity.

"Oh! please, doctor," she said, rushing up to him and falling on her knees at his feet, "don't say that. Can't you give me any hope?"

Roux and Paul were visibly affected, and the latter patted her on the head to try and comfort her.

"I am afraid, mademoiselle, I cannot give you any hope," said Roux with a sorrowful look.

"But, Doctor, if he is not really dead, you won't surely allow him to be buried, will you?"

"No, no, you may be sure I won't allow that. I promise you that we will get an order from the Minister of the Interior to leave him here until there can be no question whatever as to his being dead or alive, and Roux and I have already sent our report to the Parquet with a request to that effect."

"I quite agree," said Paul, "to what you say, in fact, anything else would be criminal."

Two days later Dr. Roux received the following letter from Villebois:--

Mon cher Docteur,

The Parquet, after hearing the report which you and Monsieur Biron were good enough to give in this extraordinary case, has granted my petition that Delapine's body may remain unburied until it has been ascertained with absolute certainty that he is really dead, but I am sorry to tell you, mon ami, that you and Monsieur Biron are under the obligation to give the Parquet a detailed report every day concerning Delapine's condition, thus giving you both, I regret to say, a considerable amount of work.

Not only ourselves and the members of the Parquet, but all Paris--France--the whole world, are anxiously awaiting the solution of this wonderful riddle. The strain is telling on my nerves, and I really feel too ill to do any work. The whole house is becoming disorganized. Madame Villebois has been compelled to take to her bed, and my daughter Céleste and Mademoiselle Renée are taking turns to watch the professor in a room we have specially prepared for him. Reporters and other inquisitive people are calling all day long for news. A guard has been stationed at the front door by the kind permission of the Parquet to keep them away as much as possible, but it is needless to add that you, mon cher confrère, will always be welcome at any hour of the day.

Toujours à vous, Adolphe Villebois.

Dr. Villebois was compelled to abandon his practice for the time being, and devote himself to his mysterious patient. Dr. Riche offered to share all responsibility with him--an offer which needless to say was most cordially accepted.

Almost every hour of the day Riche would enter the bedroom and examine the thermometer to make sure that an even temperature was maintained. He had just entered the room and looked at Renée who was sitting down holding Céleste's hand, the picture of abject misery. Renée closed her eyes, her lips trembled while she emitted a half-suppressed sigh, feeling too sad to think or speak. From time to time she put her hand to her head as if she felt a pain there, and heaved a little sigh. All hope seemed extinguished, and left nothing but an empty longing in her heart. And now the sun was eclipsed. Her dream of love had become a ghastly nightmare. A fearful and unknown terror seemed to possess her. "Listen," her heart seemed to say, "listen to the rustling of the wings of the Death-Angel as he hovers over you. You have lost your protector. Pandora's box is empty. Hope, the sole remaining gift, has escaped and fled. There is nothing more to live for. All that remains is black, hopeless despair. Why hesitate any longer? Make away with yourself."

With such thoughts of undiluted misery, she lay down on the couch longing for comfort which never came, eager for someone to come and comfort her, and yet at the same time half hoping that she might be left alone.

"Oh! Henri, Henri, my beloved, come back, come back to me or I shall die."

She felt like a little wounded bird left alone in the nest to perish.

The next day Riche, who was somewhat of an electrician, brought in a couple of dry-cell batteries and fixed the wires so that the faintest movement of Delapine's head or limbs would complete the circuit in the wires and ring an alarm.

"There," he said to Renée when he had finished, "if the professor moves hand or foot as little as the twentieth part of an inch, the alarm will be heard ringing all over the house, and will continue until the circuit is broken again."

Suddenly the alarm bell, which was one of the largest size, rang with an indescribable din. Renée jumped up with a cry, while Céleste, Marcel and Payot came rushing into the room.

"What is it, what is it?" they all cried.

"Nothing," replied Riche, "I was merely testing the apparatus. See," he continued, "I will move the professor's hand the fraction of an inch." Immediately the gong sounded, and everyone started. Then he tested each limb in the same way, and always with the same result. Next he examined the thermometer which he had placed in Delapine's mouth the day before. It showed a temperature of 75° Fahrenheit. Then he looked at the thermometer on the wall. It showed 70° Fahrenheit. He smiled and gave utterance to an exclamation of pleasure and surprise.

"What's the matter, doctor?" asked Renée, sitting up as she watched Riche's face closely.

"I have good news--not very good, but still better than nothing. The body is five degrees warmer than the air of the room. If it were only the same temperature it would be a serious matter, but for it to be higher is a very good sign."

"Oh God, I thank Thee for this small mercy," said Renée, folding her hands and bowing her head devoutly. She hurriedly left the room, and a few minutes afterwards Riche heard the music of her violin.

He opened the door and listened. He heard the opening notes of Beethoven's "Kreutzer Sonata."

"My God," he said to himself, "what feeling, what execution! surely the professor's spirit must have entered the child." He listened enraptured. Stealing out of the room with Céleste and Marcel, he found Villebois and Madame Villebois standing at the half-opened door of the library not daring to enter lest they should break the spell.

Then the air changed, and the "Ave Maria of Schubert" caught his enraptured ear.

After a pause she laid her violin down, and with closed eyes like a blind child she walked across to the organ. The fearful strain of the last few days on her nerves had exhausted her feeble frame, and she was evidently in a somnambulistic state.

Villebois with his medical training observed it immediately, and not daring to break the spell, worked the bellows for her.

She played a few chords, and then caught up that magnificent air of Handel's _Messiah_--"I know that my Redeemer liveth."

Riche had never felt so devout before. He had always regarded God merely as a convenient substantive when suitably qualified, to express his feelings with. Since he was a child he had never entered a church unless it were with an opera glass and a Baedecker in his hand, and now for the first time he felt a sort of consciousness of some unknown influence, some faint divine inspiration filling his soul. Accustomed as he had been in Morocco and Algiers to witness terrible scenes of cruelty and oppression unmoved, and to mingle in camp life with brutal soldiers, Turcos, and men who had been transferred to the frightful discipline of the Algerian foreign legion, the sweet almost angelic pathos of this girl in her exultation at the faint signs of life in her lover which Riche had revealed to her, exercised a subtle influence over his soul, which was something weird and strange to him. He felt his tears beginning to flow, and ashamed of his weakness he wiped them away and struggled to suppress them, but in spite of all his efforts they continued to dim his eyes. He looked up half ashamed of himself, but discovered the others completely overcome.

Even Marcel, the gay and frivolous cynic, usually all laughter and jokes, remained standing behind the others in a deep reverie, while Madame Villebois was sobbing convulsively.

At length Renée ceased playing, and the company dispersed, afraid lest their presence should break the spell. Silently she glided along, her eyes staring widely open, her hands outstretched before her, and her head turned upwards. She walked upstairs apparently fast asleep, and opening the door of the professor's chamber, proceeded straight to his bed. All the company followed breathlessly, and saw her bend over his form, and clasping him in her arms implanted a long and passionate kiss on his cold lips. Tears streamed down her cheeks and trickled down Delapine's face.

The death-like silence was terrible. Not a sound could be heard save the ticking of the clock. One could almost hear her breathing. Finally she left him, and still half unconscious lay down on her bed in a peaceful slumber.

No one dared to break the silence, and at length they all passed out of the room one by one to attend to their several occupations, or try and collect their thoughts.

A week passed away and then another week, and still Delapine lay unconscious in the same position.

Day by day Monsieur Biron called for news.

"Yes," said Villebois one morning in answer to his enquiries, "the professor lies there still unchanged in his death-like sleep."

"Do you mean to say he is not dead then?"

"I cannot tell you," replied Villebois, "but if he is not alive there are no signs of death."

"C'est une merveille, I cannot comprehend it," exclaimed Biron, holding up his hands and shrugging his shoulders.

"May I be permitted to look at him?" he asked.

"With pleasure, monsieur le commissaire."

Monsieur Biron entered the chamber of death with a slow and methodical step as became his dignity as an officer of the law, and proceeded to place his hat and stick on a chair. "Yes, who can tell?" he said, shrugging his shoulders, and looking up at the doctor for some reply. "Well, well, we shall see n'est-ce pas?" and he shrugged his shoulders, as if he felt somehow that the law wanted remodelling in order to be able to deal with such cases. After a short pause he rose and shook hands with Villebois in rather a patronising way, and bowing profoundly, left the house in an uncertain frame of mind, but fully convinced that he had performed a most meritorious duty.

Another day, a few weeks later, Dr. Roux came in, and taking a careful note of everything, examined the thermometer which perpetually remained in Delapine's mouth. He compared it with the thermometer on the wall, which remained at a constant temperature of about 68° F. He compared the figures with the chart on which the daily temperature was entered. "This is very strange!" he exclaimed, and hastening out of the room he ran downstairs to see Villebois.

"Dr. Villebois, are you there? Pray come here at once," he called out breathlessly.

"What's the matter?" cried Villebois, laying down his pen, and looking up at Roux who ran up to him and laid his hand on his shoulder in a state of great excitement.

"Come at once and look, Delapine's temperature has risen to 82° Fahrenheit."

Villebois jumped out of his chair with a bound. "C'est une merveille," he said as he flew upstairs after Roux who happened to have just called.

"Is it really true ... what can it mean?" cried Roux in a state of great excitement. He ran up to the professor and examined the thermometer with impatience. "You are right, doctor, quite right. It stands exactly as you said at 82° F. There can be no doubt about that. But what does it mean?"

"Who knows. But it looks favourable, doesn't it? His body is certainly not undergoing any decomposition, and therefore a rise of temperature must imply that the physiological functions of the body are beginning to assert themselves once more in some silent mysterious fashion."

The vigil continued day after day without a moment's interruption. Riche and Villebois took turns to relieve Céleste and Renée, but the latter insisted on always sleeping in the room. Often she would get up in the small hours of the morning, and with a night lamp in her hand would examine the thermometers, and bending over the professor would breathe a tender lover's kiss on his lips, and then creep back into bed.

Paul took an intense interest in the case, and insisted on Villebois telephoning him every detail often two or three times a day.

More than three months had passed away since Delapine first became unconscious, and still no signs of returning life appeared. One day about the middle of January of the following year, Paul happened to call, and going up to Delapine distinctly noticed a slight tremor of the facial muscles. He stood spellbound, and then happening to examine the thermometer found to his surprise that it indicated 90° F. He ran into the library where Villebois and Riche happened to be sitting, and at once communicated the discovery to them.

A veritable flutter in the dovecot followed. Telephonic messages were at once sent to Monsieur Biron, Roux, and to several of the most eminent professors and specialists at the various hospitals in Paris, for the mysterious case had become the daily topic of conversation among all the faculty. A great consultation was held in the library among all these learned doctors, and voluminous notes were taken. But although a vast amount of erudition was put forth, no one was able to offer any practical suggestions, and hence nothing came of it.

"Mais mon Dieu!" said one of the great men, "what can we do? We can only wait patiently until something happens."

A few days later Renée was lying in her bed about midnight in a semi-drowsy condition, when she suddenly saw a bright light floating like a nimbus over Delapine's head. She gave a little scream, and then becoming more and more awake gazed on it with intense fascination. At first it moved slightly, and then growing larger and larger began to condense into the form of a human face. Slowly the features developed, until at length it assumed the form of her mother. By degrees the entire body appeared clothed in white drapery, and slowly made its way towards Renée with a sweet smile on her face. As the light of the room increased Renée recognised her features, and springing out of bed she ran into her arms. "Oh, mother!" she cried, "Is that really you?"

"Yes, I am your mother, and am come to tell you that Henri will very soon wake up, and you will be able to see him as he was, and to hear him talk."

Renée seized her by both hands and squeezed them.

"Mother dear, that is too good to be true. Do you really mean it?"

"Of course I do. You know I never told you a lie, and why should I tell you one now?"

Renée's eyes fairly danced with delight as she heard the welcome news, and she clapped her hands for joy.

"But tell me, how are you, mother? Are you very happy?"

"I am very happy," her mother replied. "The life on the other side is merely a continuation of this, only without its limitations."

"Do you suffer pain like you used to so often, mother?"

"No, Renée, there is no pain beyond the grave. Here you are subjected to natural laws. You are tied down to the earth by the action of gravity. But we are free from all these restrictions. We can go where we please at will in an instant of time. Time and space have no limitation for us."

"Shall I join you soon, mother?"

"No, Renée, you have a mission to perform and a great deal of work to do yet, and I think you will have a long and happy life in company with your fiancé."

"But how did you possibly know of our engagement? Has anyone told you?"

"Have I not been by your side off and on ever since I left you, my child? Do you suppose a mother can ever forget her daughter?"

"Of course not," replied Renée, "but at the same time I never imagined that you would be able to see me."

"You could not see me now but for your lover's presence."

"What do you mean, mother?"

"I mean what I say, dear. Henri has come back to earth, and I have been using his body to form materialistic substance to clothe my spirit with, so that you are enabled to see me with your own eyes."

Renée jumped up at hearing this with an exclamation of joy as the thought of Henri's return began to dawn on her mind. "Do you really mean to say that Henri is back again, and that he will be the same old darling he was before?"

"Why of course I do. My presence is the proof positive that his spirit has returned. To-morrow he will wake up and in a very short time he will be quite well again."

Renée clapped her hands for sheer joy, and gave her mother a close embrace.

"Oh! mother, how very strange to think that I never knew you were so near. Why is it that you have never shown yourself to me before, except for a moment when Henri was in a trance?"

"I can only reveal myself to you in the presence of a medium who happens to be in a state of trance at the time, because I have to clothe myself with the earthly particles of his body which I subtract from it when he is in that condition, as I cannot do it when he is awake. If you were to weigh Henri now you would find half his weight gone."

Renée looked at Delapine's body, and to her horror she saw it had shrunk to two-thirds its former size, but her mother calmed her and reassured her at once.

"You need not be in the least alarmed, my darling, he will get all his substance restored to him the moment I am gone."

"Oh! mother, how you did frighten me," she said, "but do you manufacture the drapery you are wearing, as well as your body, out of the substance of his body as well?"

"Yes, everything, and in a few moments, without the least difficulty."

"Why do you surround yourself with such thick white stuff?"

"The drapery is thrown out to protect our psychic bodies from the light which acts injuriously on us when materialized," her mother replied.

"Now, Renée dear, I must leave you because I cannot hold my power any longer, and besides it will injure Delapine if I do, as although he has returned to his body, he is so very weak that a very little thing might really kill him now. I will come again and see you very soon."

Her mother kissed her affectionately on both cheeks, and then relaxing her hold, she slowly melted down into the ground and vanished.

Renée was too excited to sleep any more that night, so she got up and lit the lamp.

She held it close to Delapine, and to her surprise she saw that he had returned to his former size and weight.

As she continued to gaze on his features, she noticed that the muscles of his face twitched. Suddenly Delapine moved his fingers, which caused the bell to ring so loudly that it woke up all the household, and they all came running into the room attired in their dressing gowns, or the first garments that they could lay their hands on.

"What is the matter?" they all exclaimed. "Have any thieves got into the house?"

"Oh! no," said Renée, smiling, "it was Delapine who rang the bell. He moved his hands, I saw him do it, and immediately the bell sounded."

"Are you sure of this?" they all cried with one voice.

"As certain as that I am standing here," she replied.

They all looked at the professor, and distinctly observed the muscles of his face twitch.

"I think we will sit up to-night and watch him, what do you say to that, Riche?"

The doctor agreed, and accordingly they made themselves as comfortable as they could in a couple of armchairs.

The next morning they examined the thermometer. It had risen to 93° F. A faint flush suffused the professor's cheek, and a slight but distinct pulsation could be felt.

The event was telegraphed all over Europe, and crowds of savants and doctors came and left their cards, but no one was admitted by the doctor's orders. The ringing of the bell occurred so often that it became a nuisance, and Villebois had it removed.

The next day the temperature touched 98° Fahrenheit and Delapine opened and closed his eyes and looked around him. He moved his limbs slowly and even attempted to sit up, but the effort was too great, and he sank back again on his pillow.

A consultation was arranged forthwith, and half a dozen of the most celebrated physicians in Paris came to the house.

Renée was in the seventh heaven of delight as she heard her name whispered in her ear as she bent over him that evening. He made signs that he wanted food, and the doctors agreed to give him some beef-essence. A few days afterwards about three in the morning Renée's mother appeared again. "Renée," she said, "I am about to be called away, and must leave you for good."

"For good, mother? You don't mean to say that I shall not see you any more?" said Renée, looking very distressed.

"I must go, dear, but Henri will take my place. When you pass over to the other side you will see me as often as you please, but now I must leave you."

"Mother dear, won't you give me some keepsake?"

"Bring me a pair of scissors and I will cut off a lock of my hair." So saying her mother snipped off one of her light golden curls, and giving her a long tender embrace slowly vanished out of her sight. Renée looked around her. She was alone save for the form of her lover. It all seemed like a wonderful dream, and she rubbed her eyes to make sure she was awake. "I must have been dreaming," she said, but no, here was the lock of her mother's beautiful silky hair in her hand. That at any rate was no dream, and was proof positive that someone had brought it, and that her vision was not a dream but a stern reality. Renée kissed the lock of hair, and carefully put it away in one of her little treasure boxes.

"Ah! how many happy hours I have spent in playing with that beautiful hair, and now to think that I should actually handle it again. Who would ever have thought it possible? How sorry I feel for the poor poet Cowper when the only thing he had left of his beloved mother was her portrait, and which he immortalised in those beautiful lines which my governess taught me:--

"'Oh that those lips had language! Life has passed With me but roughly since I heard thee last. Those lips are thine--thine own sweet smile I see, The same that oft in childhood solaced me; Faithful remembrances of one so dear, O welcome guest, though unexpected here! My mother! When I learnt that thou wast dead, Say wast thou conscious of the tears I shed? Perhaps thou gav'st me, though unfelt, a kiss, Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss.'"

She showed the lock of hair to Riche and Marcel, but they only smiled and shook their heads when she told them that her mother had cut it off from her own head only the night before.

"No, no, mademoiselle, you can't make us believe that your mother really appeared to you in the flesh and cut off a lock of her hair with a pair of scissors, and handed it to you."

"But I assure you, doctor, it is perfectly true."

"The vigil has been too much for Renée, poor child," said Riche to Villebois as they were discussing the vision. "Her reason has broken down under the strain."

"Yes," said Villebois, "I agree that we must send her away for a change somewhere, or she will have brain fever, or lose her reason altogether."

"I am afraid that those visions of her mother show that she has lost her senses already," said Riche.

"But how do you account for the lock of hair?" said Villebois.

"Why it's Renée's own hair of course, or else that of her maid."

"Well it can't be that of her maid, because that is raven black."

"I don't believe the tale for a moment," said Riche with a smile of contempt for such an ignorant superstition.

"Well look at the two side by side as I have done, and you will change your opinion. They are as different as day from night. Renée's hair has a brownish colour, whereas her mother's is of a light golden colour." He showed them both side by side to Riche but he merely shrugged his shoulders. He had seen so many wonderful things lately that he had ceased to scoff, but felt it prudent to keep silent.

At the end of the week Delapine's temperature had risen to normal (98.4° F.) and he had so far recovered that he was able to walk downstairs and sit in the study.

Renée was in constant attendance. No hospital nurse could have looked after him better, and certainly no one in the world could have replaced her in Delapine's eyes.

"Oh! Villebois, mon ami," he would say as he lay on the sofa a few days later, "I have had a most marvellous sleep, and a wonderful recovery, but you cannot imagine in your wildest dreams what wonderful adventures and experiences I have had."

"Adventures!" they all exclaimed, "What adventures? Why, you have been lying down in your bed upstairs for months past watched by us in turn day and night without a moment's cessation, and now you talk of adventures. It's we who have had the adventures, not you. Strange things have happened since that memorable evening when you went off in the trance-sleep. Are you aware, professor, that Pierre attempted to murder you by injecting a subtle poison into your arm?"

"Enough of that," said Delapine, "I know it all. Didn't you get my letter, Renée, in which I pointed it all out to you, and entreated you not to allow me to be touched or buried?"

"Rather! Why, Henri, Dr. Riche brought it to me, and it was that letter which saved your life by convincing Riche and Villebois that you were not dead, and so preventing the autopsy. Oh! how thankful I was when I read it. It gave me new life--in fact I am sure if I had not received some such encouragement I should have died of grief."

"Thank God that you saw the letter in time," replied Delapine, "I had a strange premonition that all this was going to happen, and so I prepared for it by giving you the sealed envelope."

"Let us not talk about it now, Henri, you are under my orders and I cannot allow my patient to get excited."

"Well, wait a few days until I get stronger, and then I will dictate to you my experiences, and you shall write them down, and we will publish a book about them. I think they will make good reading. You must know, Renée, that the moment I went into the deep sleep or trance, my soul (or Ego) left the body and went far away, and only returned to it about the 19th January."

"Why that was when dear mother came to see me."

"Precisely," Delapine nodded. "She was watching over you all the time, but she was unable to reveal herself in a visible tangible form, unless there was a suitable medium who was en rapport with her. Fortunately I was such a medium, and the moment I returned to my body she seized the opportunity which she had been long waiting for to reveal herself to you in bodily form by building herself out of the particles of my body."

"How strange!" they all exclaimed.

"Yes," said the professor, "I have studied these things deeply. I have discovered that all spiritualistic phenomena are governed by laws which are just as fixed and unalterable as are the laws which govern all the phenomena of this visible world. We have only to learn and understand how spiritual phenomena are produced and controlled by these laws, to extend our conquest over the invisible world of science in the same way that we have extended our knowledge over the visible world of science during the last three hundred years. Spiritual science is only in the same stage of knowledge and advancement in which electricity was at the time of Volta, or steam at the time of Watt."

"Oh, do tell us about it," they all said.

But no answer came. The professor's excitement had proved too much for him in his weak state, and when they looked at him he was sleeping peacefully as a little child with a happy smile on his face.

"Hush," said Renée, and she put her fingers to her lips.

All the guests crept out of the room in silence, leaving Renée alone to nurse her lover.

Day by day Delapine grew stronger, thanks to the careful nursing of Renée and to the medical skill of Riche and Villebois.

A week later the professor walked out into the garden, for the first time, with a stick, and sat down in the summer-house.

"Ah, yes, this is where I had my last cup of coffee, if I remember rightly."

"Yes," replied Riche and Céleste together, "and if you had drunk it you would not be here to tell the tale."

"But the insectivorous plant would, eh! Renée?" said Delapine with a comical smile. "Well I have got to thank Pierre after all. For if he had not injected that wonderful liquid into my arm I should never have made those wonderful discoveries, and had those extraordinary adventures which I have experienced all these months. Yes, I promise you I shall have them all in writing before long, and I trust I shall be spared to see you all enjoy reading them."

"But before you dictate them, professor, it is imperative that you have a change and re-establish your health, and we shall want you to take a trip somewhere."

"Yes, yes, I have provided for all that. I intend going to Monte Carlo."

"What!" they all exclaimed, "to Monte Carlo?"

"Why not?" he replied.

"Oh, but you surely do not mean to go there to play at the tables?"

"Why not?" he repeated.

"But, professor, we never knew you were a gambler."

"Well, well, it is part of my programme, and you will see how necessary it will be. It is true I am not a gambler, but I have resolved to play at the tables. Now, no more questions, or Renée will turn you all out of the garden," and Delapine laughed in his own hearty way.

"What a marvellous man," said Riche to Villebois.

"Oh, you don't know him yet, just wait a bit and see."

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 17: "Last of the Gods, e'en Hope the tomb doth flee, and in its night Oblivion doth all mortal things enfold."]