"He said that? Swear to me that you are telling the truth!"
"I have never lied in my life."
"Philip!" The name died on his lips, and the hand that clasped Rondelet's grew cold. Robert had fainted. He came to his senses only to fall into a deep sleep; and Philip, as he watched him, was convinced that the corner was turned, and that the morning would see his patient out of danger.
Before he slept that night Rondelet had a duty to perform, a message to deliver. He stopped at the Ruysdales on his way from the hospital to Jackson Square. Margaret was expecting him. The evening was very warm, and the young girl was sitting on the veranda with her father. Sara Harden and her faithful cavalier, Bouton de Rose, arrived just as Philip came up the steps.
"Ah, Philippe le bel, it is you!" cried Mrs. Harden. "Never were you more welcome than at this moment,—what news of Feuardent?"
Margaret's eyes had already asked the question.
"He is much better to-night; I think I can almost pronounce him out of danger."
"There 's no killing a fellow like that," said Bouton de Rose. "He is a Hercules. What a physique, what muscles! A gladiator!"
