CHAPTER XVII.
At Angle's entrance a form slowly raised itself on a couch, and a voice, not Michel's, said: "Mademoiselle--by our Lady, 'tis she!" It was the voice of the Seigneur of Rozel, and Angle started back amazed.
"You, Monsieur--you!" she gasped.

"It was you that sent for me ?" "Send?
Not I--I have not lost my manners yet.

Rozel at Court is no greater fool than Lempriere in Jersey." Angle wrung her hands.

"I thought it De la Foret who was ill.

The surgeon said to come quickly." Lempriere braced himself against the wall, for he was weak, and his fever still high.