"Let me feel your pulse." The Chevalier bowed and submitted, watching the countenance of the operator all the time with an anxiety that was not lost upon me.
"Do you sleep well ?" asked my father, holding the fragile little wrist between his finger and thumb.
"Passably, Monsieur." "Dream much ?" "Ye--es, I dream." "Are you subject to giddiness ?" The Chevalier shrugged his shoulders and looked uneasy.
"_C'est vrai_" he acknowledged, more unwillingly than ever, "_J'ai des vertiges_." My father relinquished his hold and scribbled a rapid prescription.
"There, sir," said he, "get that preparation made up, and when you next feel as you felt just now, drink a wine-glassful.

I should recommend you to keep some always at hand, in case of emergency.

You will find further directions on the other side." The little Frenchman attempted to get up with his usual vivacity; but was obliged to balance himself against the back of a chair.
"Monsieur," said he, with another of his profound bows, "I thank you infinitely.

You make me too much attention; but I am grateful.

And, Monsieur, my little girl--my child that is far away across the sea--she thanks you also.