Chaumonot’s voice rose and fell.  Why had the marquis given this man a thousand livres?  What evil purpose lay behind it?  The marquis gave to the Church?  He was surprised to find himself struggling against a wild desire to laugh.  Sometimes the voice sounded like thunder in his ears; anon, it was so far away that he could hear only the echo of it.  Presently the mass came to an end.  The worshipers rose by twos and threes.  But the Chevalier remained kneeling.  The next roll of the ship toppled him forward upon his face, where he lay motionless.  Several sprang to his aid, the vicomte and Victor being first.  Together they lifted the Chevalier to his feet, but his knees doubled up.  He was unconscious.

“Paul?” cried Victor in alarm.  “He is seasick?” turning anxiously toward the vicomte.

“This is not seasickness; more likely a reaction.  Here comes Lieutenant Nicot, who has some fame as a leech.  He will tell us what the trouble is.”

A hasty examination disclosed that the Chevalier was in the first stages of brain fever, and he was at once conveyed to his berthroom.  Victor was inconsolable; the vicomte, thoughtful; and even the Comte d’Herouville showed some interest.

“What brought this on?” asked Nicot, when the Chevalier was stretched on his mattress.

The vicomte glanced significantly at Victor.

“He . . .  The Chevalier has just passed through an extraordinary mental strain,” Victor stammered.

“Of what nature?” asked Nicot.

“Never mind what nature, Lieutenant,” interrupted the vicomte.  “It is enough that he has brain fever.  The question is, can you bring him around?”

Nicot eyed his patient critically.  “It is splendid flesh, but he has been on a long debauch.  I’ll fetch my case and bleed him a bit.”

“Poor lad!” said Victor.  “God knows, he has been through enough already.  What if he should die?”

“Would he not prefer it so?” the vicomte asked.  “Were I in his place I should consider death a blessing in disguise.  But do not worry; he will pull out of it, if only for a day, in order to run his sword through that fool of a D’Herouville.  The Chevalier always keeps his engagements.  I will leave you now.  I will call in the morning.”

For two weeks the Chevalier’s mind was without active thought or sense of time.  It was as if two weeks had been plucked from his allotment without his knowledge or consent.  Many a night Victor and Breton were compelled to use force to hold the sick man on his mattress.  He horrified the nuns at evening prayer by shouting for wine, calling the main at dice, or singing a camp song.  At other times his laughter broke the quiet of midnight or the stillness of dawn.  But never in all his ravings did he mention the marquis or the tragedy of the last rout.  Some secret consciousness locked his lips.  Sometimes Brother Jacques entered the berthroom and applied cold cloths, and rarely the