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Updated: May 20, 2025
From time to time he held up his white hands and let the sun incarnadine them. He spoke to no one, though when Victor sat beside him he smiled. On the second day he feebly expressed a desire for some one to read to him. "What shall I read, Paul?" asked Victor, joyously. "You will find my Odyssey in the berthroom.
Often Victor came in softly to find the Chevalier sleeping that restless sleep of the fever-bound and the priest, a hand propping his chin, lost in reverie. One night Victor had been up with the Chevalier. The berthroom was close and stifling. He left the invalid in Breton's care and sought the deck for a breath of air, cold and damp though it was.
What were they doing yonder in Paris? Were they all alive, the good lads in his company? And how went the war with Spain? Would the ladies sometimes recall him in the tennis courts? With a sigh he dipped the quill in the inkhorn and went on. The truth is, the poet was homesick. But he was not alone in this affliction. Breton was sitting by the port-hole in his master's berthroom.
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 young priest failed to quiet the patient.
"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.
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