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."]