He knew
that over him St. Pierre was shouting. For days, it seemed, he
could hear nothing but that great voice bellowing away in the
interminable distance. And then came other voices, now near and
now far, and after that he seemed to rise up and float among the
clouds, and for a long time he heard no other sound and felt no
movement, but was like one dead.
Something soft and gentle and comforting roused him out of
darkness. He did not move, he did not open his eyes for a time,
while reason came to him. He heard a voice, and it was a woman's
voice, speaking softly, and another voice replied to it. Then he
heard gentle movement, and some one went away from him, and he
heard the almost noiseless opening and closing of a door. A very
little he began to see. He was in a room, with a patch of sunlight
on the wall. Also, he was in a bed. And that gentle, comforting
hand was still stroking his forehead and hair, light as
thistledown. He opened his eyes wider and looked up. His heart
gave a great throb. Over him was a glorious, tender face smiling
like an angel into his widening eyes. And it was the face of
Carmin Fanchet!
He made an effort, as if to speak.
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