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, for all her sweet gentleness, had the quiet finality of the angel with the Flaming Sword. Not a wriggle or so much as a word out of me were the orders for the next two days, not a glimpse of Rosalie or even a bon jour through the door; and as for a newspaper—what horror! She came in but little herself; so I did a Chinese rest cure, with the result that the evening of the second day my fever was gone, and Sœur Anne Marie said there was no more danger.

The next morning, as I rolled over, clean slept out, there came a little rustle at the door, and I looked round to see Rosalie peeping in at me. "Good morning," said I. "Is my sentence commuted?"

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"Like a hundred horse-power racer. Whenever you get tired holding that food" She laughed, and set down on my table de nuit a bowl of café au lait, some toast and a roll of fresh butter.

"And the arm—and shoulder?" she asked.

"I've forgot 'em!" And I started for the petit déjeuner in a way that made Rosalie smile. Wounds, after all, are nothing much to a man in perfect health. The blood-letting had made me feel nice and cool and relaxed. I always had too much blood; 247